
Class __H-S^ 

Book H>^1C 4 

Copigltt N"__ „: 14-X X 



CDfKRIGHT DEPOSm 



COSY CORNERS 

By PAULINE PHELPS AND MARION SHORT 




SAMUEL FRENCH, 2&-30 West 38th Sl^eNcw York 



THE REJUVENATION OF AUNT MARY. 

The famous comedy in three acts, by Anne Warner. 7 males, 6 
females. Three interior scenes. Costumes modern. Plays 2}i hours. 

This ia a genuinely funny comedy with splendid parts for "Aunt 
Mary," "Jack," her lively nephew; "Lucinda," a New England an- 
cient maid of 41 work; "Jack's" three chums; the Girl "Jack" loves; 
"Joshua," AuBt Mary's hired man, etc. 

"Auat Mary" was played by May Robson in New York and on tour 
for over two years, and it is sure to be a big success wherever i>ro- 
duced. W© Strongly recommend it Price, 60 Cents. 



MRS. BUMSTEAD-LEIGH. 

A pleasing' cotnedy, in three acts, by Harry James Smith, author of 
"The Tailor-Made Man." 6 males, 6 females. One interior scene. 
Costumes modern. Plays 2J4 hours, 

Mr. Smith chose for his initial comedy the complications arising 
from the endeavors of a social climber to land herself in the altitude 
peopled by hyphenated names — a theme permitting innumerable com- 
plications, according to the spirit of the writer. 

This most successful comedy was toured for several seasons by Mrs. 
Fiske with cnormovw swccess. Price, 60 Cents. 



MRS. TEMPLE'S TELEGRAM. 

A most successful farce in three acts, by Frank Wyatt and Wil- 
liam Morris. S males, 4 females. One interior scene stands through- 
out the three acts. Costumes modern. Plays 2y3 hours. 

"Mrs. Temple's Telegram" is a sprightly farce in which there ia 
an abundance of fun without any taint of impropriety or any ele- 
ment of offence. As noticed by Sir Walter Scott, /'Oh, what a 
tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive." 

There ia not a dull moment in the entire farce, and from the time 
the curtain rises until it makes the final drop, the fun is fast and 
furiotia. A very exceptional farce. Price, 60 Cents. 



THE NEW CO-ED. 

A comedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "Tempest and 
Sunshine," etc. Characters, 4 males, 7 females, though any number 
of boys and girls can be introduced in the action of the play. One 
interier and one exterior scene, but can be easily played in one inte- 
rior scene. Costumes modern. Time, about 2 hours. 

The theme of this play is the coming of a new student to the col- 
lefTC, her reception by the scholars, her trials and final triumph. 

There are three especially good girls' parts, Letty, Madge and 
Estellc, but the others have plenty to do. "Punch" Doolittle and 
George Washingfton Watts, a gentleman of color, are two particularly 
good comedy characters. We can strongly recommend "The New 
Co-Ed" to high schools and amateurs. Price, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street. New York City 

New and Explicit Descriprlve Catalogue Malisd Freo on Rioueat 



Cosy Corners 

A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS 

BY 
PAULINE PHELPS and MARION SHORT 



AH Rights Reserved 
Copyright, 1922, by Samuel French 



CAUTION.— Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned 
that "COSY CORNERS," being fully protected under 
the copyright laws of the United States and Great Britain, 
is subject to a royalty, and anyone presenting the play 
without the consent of the authors or their authorized 
agents will be liable to the penalties by law _ provided. 
Application for professional and amateur acting rights 
must be made to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, 
New York City, N. Y. 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 

28-30 West 38th Street 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 






Especial notice should be taken that the possession of 
this book without a valid contract for production first 
having been obtained from the publisher, confers no right 
or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play 
publicly or in private for gain or charity. 

In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading 
public only, and no performance, representation, produc- 
tion, recitation, or public reading may be given except by 
special arrangement with Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th 
Street, New York. 

This play may be presented by amateurs upon payment 
of a royalty of Twenty-Five Dollars for each perform- 
ance, payable to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, 
New York, one week before the date when the play is 
given. 

Whenever the play is produced the following notice must 
appear on all programs, printing and advertising for the 
play: "Produced by special arrangement with Samuel 
French of New York." 

Attention is called to the penalty provided by law for 
any infringement of the author's rights, as follows: 

"Section 4966 : — Any person publicly performing or rep- 
resenting any dramatic or musical composition for which 
copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the 
proprietor of said dramatic or musical compositions, or his 
heirs and assigns, shall be liable for damages thereof, 
such damages, in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not 
less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dol- 
lars for every subsequent performance, as to the court 
shall appear to be just. If the unlawful performance and 
representation be wilful and for profit, such person or 
persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon con- 
viction shall be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one 
year."— U. S. Revised Statutes: Title 60, Chap. 3. 



r5ci,D 62491 



±0 CC 



DESCRIPTION OF CHARACTERS 

Marietta — A round-eyed child of eight, prcternat- 
urally inquisitive. Her general manner shows 
the influence of her late association with the 
orphan asylum, rather than Mrs. Bartlett's 
care. Her hair is worn in two tiny pig-tails. 

Mrs. Bartlett — A fleshy ivonian of fifty, radiating 
good-will and good wishes toward everyone. 
Her clothes look as if they had been designed 
by a country dressmaker not quite in touch with 
the latest styles. 

Bob Bartlett — A rather vealy boy of tzventy. 

LiBBiE and Jane — They are fourteen and fifteen 
years of age, respectively, and are of the roman- 
tic, gushing type, given to following the latest 
fashion in ''flapper'' attire and hair dressing. 

Edna Pettibone — A nineteen-year-old girl of vivid 
personality, but cozvcd by her father's severity 
info drab submissiveness to his authority. Her 
dresses, though of inexpensive material, are 
artistic in cut and color, and she walks with the 
ease and grace of a natural dancer. 

Deacon Pettibone — A dominant, crabbed old man 
of sixty- five. 

3 



4 COSY CORNERS 

Cl\T)E Hollister — A handsome, scholarly-looking 
young man. His voice is deep and expressive, 
his gestures eloquent and easy. 

Avis Merrill — A happy-hearted, beautiful, young 
girl of tiventy-two. Her poise is perfect, and 
her exquisite Paris attire is in marked contrast 
to that of the country people around her. 

Morris Granby^-/^ worldly city man, fleshy and 
jovial in appearance. About forty years of age. 

Sophie Anderson — An everyday village girl of 
seventeen, with rolling, sentimental eyes, and a 
nervous giggle. 

Amanda Stebbins — A thin-faced, sharp-nosed, 
slab-sided spinster of forty-five, with a particu- 
larly hard and racuous voice. 



SCENES 

Act I — Lazvn in front of Cosy Corners Congrega- 
tional Church. 
Act II — Dining Room of Parsonage. 
Act III — Same as Act II. 
Act IV — Same as Acts II and III. 



Cosy Corners 

ACT I 

Time: The Present. 

Scene: The lawn in front of the Cosy Corners 
Congregational Church. Benches and camp 
chairs at R. and l. A table at c. with ice-cream 
freezer standing beside it. Ice-cream dishes on 
table, also cake plates, paper napkins, etc., such 
as are usually in order at an ice-cream social. 
At back near some shrubbery is a lozv saw-horse 
zvith a plank resting against it, which has evi- 
dently been used by childern as a see-saw. 
There is a large basket at l. of table. DisK-pan 
on stump near table. 

Discovered: Mrs. Bartlett, standing back of 
table gathering up some dishes that Bob, after 
drying, is handing over to her. She is putting 
some of these back into the basket, as the social 
is about over. Bob wears an apron over his 
light suit of clothes. Jane and Libbie are 
seated on bench at r.; Edna at l. Near Edna 
stands Marietta, wriggling about uneasily as 
she watches Edna dispose of the last of a dish 
of ice-cream. 

Marietta. Are you going to eat it all? 'Cause 
if you ain't, I'll finish it for you. 

7 -^ 



8 COSY CORNERS 

Mrs. Bartlett. Come right over here, Marietta, 
an' stop starin' at Edna like that. Of course she's 
goin' to finish her ice-cream, an' even if she wasn't, 
you've had plenty of your own. 

Marietta. Is it pretty near all gone out of the 
freezer ? 

Bob. Nope. Plenty left over. 

Mrs. Bartlett. I'm plannin' to buy what's left 
myself. Soon as you finish up the dishes, Bob, you 
may as well take oflf your apron an' carry that 
freezer over onto our back porch. 

Bob. All right. Mom. 

Marietta. Oh, goody, goody ! How much of it 
can I have for supper, Ma Bartlett? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Land sakes, child, you've got 
three dishes inside of you now ! 

Marietta. But ain't orphans always hungry? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Every time Marietta wants her 
own way, she thinks she'll get it by remindin' me 
she's an orphan. 

Marietta. How many dishes can I put inside me 
at supper? 

Mrs. Bartlett. You'd think she'd been starved 
ever since I adopted her into the family. 

Marietta. (Persisting with her questioning) 
But how many dishes ? 

Mrs. Bartlett. One, maybe! Stop askin' fool- 
ish questions! 

Marietta. (Dancing around) Ice-cream for 
supper! Ice-cream for supper! (To Libbie and 
Jane.J Don't you wish you was invited over to our 
house? 

Bob. (Amused) That kid's the living question- 
mark, if you ask me! 

Libbie. (Rises) I guess it's pretty near time we 
were going home. 



COSY CORNERS 9 

Jane. (Rising also) Yes, I guess it is. (They 
carry their dishes to the table.) 

LiBBiE. It was lovely ice-cream, Mrs. Bartlett. 

Jane. Just lovely. I ate every speck that was 
on my plate. (As Libbie opens purse.) Now let 
me pay for it, Libbie. 

Libbie. No, Jane, let me pay for it. 

Jane. But you paid for mine at the last ice-cream 
social. 

Libbie. Why, Jane ! How can you say such a 
thing. You know you paid for mine. (Elbozvs 
Jane.j Let me pay, Mrs. Bartlett. 

Jane. (Elbows Libbiej No. Here, take my 
money, please. She paid last time. (Both offer 
money to Mrs. Bartlett. J 

Libbie. No, she paid. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, each one pays her own 
this time, an' you can settle it between you after- 
wards. There's your change, Jane, an' yours. Lib- 
bie. (As she makes change, Marietta surrepti- 
tiously eats a small portion of ice-cream she finds 
on Libbie's plate.) 

Bob. Scat ! (This is said for Marietta's benefit, 
who quickly sets dozvn the plate and scampers 
around behind Edna.j 

Edna. I'll take a plate of cream. (Goes forivard, 
takes plate and pays for cream.) There's the even 
change, Mrs. Bartlett. 

Mrs. Bartlett. All right, Edna. I thought your 
father might drop in to patronize us, seein' as it's 
a half holiday. (Enter Deacon Pettibone, r., 
carrying a buggy-whip.) Oh, Cousin Jonathan, I 
was just speakin' of you. I'm glad you came before 
I'd sent back the freezer. 

Deacon. Been gettin' my horse shod. I don't 
want any ice-cream. Sp'iles my appetite, an' should 
think 'twould sp'ile anyone's, havin' a half burned 



10 COSY CORNERS 

church starin' 'em in the face like that one. (Ges- 
tures L., with buggy-whip,) 

Mrs. Bartlett. (With dignity) Havin' the so- 
cial on the church green was my idea, Cousin Jona- 
than. I thought folks would patronize us double, 
seein' as we're raisin' funds to have the ruins taken 
away. But, it was a pretty small crowd. (Sighs, 
then smiles, pluckily.) Well, better luck next time. 
The social was got up kind of sudden anyway. I 
guess maybe we didn't advertise it enough. 

Deacon. You're too cheerful, Cynthia. Every- 
body's too cheerful, includin' the parson. How 
folks can stand around an' smile when the church 
is goin' to rack an' ruin, beats me. 

Mrs. Bartlett. But the church isn't goin' to 
rack an' ruin, an' I don't think you ought to say 
such discouragin' things before our young folks ! 

LiBBiE. (As she mid Jane come down from table) 
Oh, Jane, come on over to my house. 

Jane. No, you come over to mine. 

LiBBiE. Mine's the nearest. 

Jane. Well, if I come over to your house for half 
an hour, then will you come over to mine for half 
an hour? 

LiBBiE. Umhm. 

Deacon. Don't make yourself sick eatin' too 
much, Edna. (Tastes her ice-cream.) Humph! Fit 
to p'ison you. (Eats the rest of it.) 

Jane. Oh, Libbie, you're the dearest girl! 

Libbie. I am not. You're the dearest 1 (They 
put their arms about each other and skip toward L.) 

Jane. (As they go) No, you are. 

Libbie. No, you are ! (They exit at l.) 

Marietta. Ma Bartlett, what makes Libbie an' 
Jane talk so much an' laugh so much? 

Mrs. Bartlett. There you go askin' questions 
again ! 



COSY CORNERS ii 

Marietta. But what makes 'em? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Oh, nothin*, except most girls 
at that age are pretty much all giggle an' gab. 

Marietta. Will I be? 

Bob. You've made a good start, kid. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Jonathan, won't you buy the left 
over ice-cream? 

Deacon. Don't want it. Just tastin' it has give 
me indigestion. Only stopped because I was lookin' 
for Edna. 

Edna. Did you want me for anything particular? 

Deacon. Well, as long as you're close to the 
center, you'd better run down to Axell's grocery 
store an' let 'em know about leavin' out that starch 
from my order this mornin'. 

Edna. But it's so pleasant here. Can't I let 
them know to-morrow when they come to the house ? 

Deacon. No. Folks that make mistakes ought 
to be told of it quick! Tell 'em if they try to cheat 
me ag'in, I'm through with 'em ! 

Edna. Oh, Father, please — I don't like to say 
that! 

Deacon. Are you goin' to obey me, or ain't you ? 

Edna. (Despondently) Of course. Father. We 
need some soap, too. 

Deacon. Get that at the grocery across the 
street, that's set up in competition. Let Axell's see 
you gettin' it, too. 

Edna. (Listlessly) I haven't enough money for 
soap. 

Deacon. (Hands her silver piece) There 'tis. 
Give me back the change at supper time. Don't 
forget. 

Edna. Oh, I won't. (Exits, L.J 

Marietta. Supper time, supper time! We're 
goin' to have ice-cream at supper time! (Dances 



12 COSY CORNERS 

around.) May I go home, Ma Bartlett, and tell 
Susie Jane we're goin' to have ice-cream? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Yes, run along. 

Marietta. Ice cream — pink and white and choca- 
lum ! Ice-cream, ice-cream ! (Dances around and 
off R., chanting ''Ice-cream/') 

Deacon. Wouldn't let her go dancin' around like 
that. Cousin Cynthia. Takin' her from the Orphan 
Asylum ain't goin' to be no credit to you, if you 
don't bring her up strict. 

Mrs. Bartlett. The idea of your instructin' me 
how to bring up a child, an' me a church member all 
my hfe! 

Deacon. You don't frown on dancin' the way 
you used to. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Not innocent dancin', no. The 
world advances, an' I'm tryin' to advance with it — 
Bob, take that ice-cream freezer over to Mrs. An- 
derson's an tell her we're much obliged for the loan 
of it. 

Bob. All right, Mom. (Exits with freezer, at l.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Didn't want to get into an 
argument with you before Bob, but as long as you've 
brought up the subject of dancin' yourself, all I 
want to say is that all the young folks in town are 
pityin' your Edna. 

Deacon. What for? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Because you won't let her go 
to the Saturday Evenin' Club, made up of the town's 
nicest young folks, on account of bein' afraid she'll 
dance with some of 'em. 

Deacon. I know what I'm doin'. No one can 
say I ain't been active chasin' the devil in Cosy 
Corners. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Chasin' folks to the devil, you 
mean. Edna ain't goin' to stand it always. Tryin' 
to bring her up like she was a sanctimonious old 



COSY CORNERS 13 

maid of sixty. How's she goin' to get any pleasure 
out of life, I'd like to know? 

Deacon. Don't you start upholdin' dancin' to me, 
Cynthia Bartlett, Shouldn't be surprised if you 
keep on, to see you footin' it someday yourself, for- 
gettin' your standin' in the church. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Why, I do dance in spirit now, 
though havin* too much flesh sort of holds me down 
in body. An* as for Edna — why, it's natural to all 
young creatures to want to dance an' frisk. Look 
at the lambs an* kittens an* puppies! They're all 
a-dancin' to some secret music of their own. The 
flowers an' grass are sort of dancin' as they rise up 
from the earth in Springtime. I wish you'd act 
more like a human bein', Jonathan, an' let Edna go 
around with the young folks. 

Deacon. Edna's been brought up to respect 
parental authority an' she's goin' to keep on re- 
spectin' it. Don't you think you can dictate to me. 
I'm goin' to keep a short rope on her for the good 
of her soul. Next thing I cal'late to do is to stop 
her runnin' round with that flddlin' Miss Merrill 
that's spendin' the summer here. Fiddlin' an' danc- 
in'. are pretty night first cousins to my mind. 

Mrs. Bartlett. There you go again, shuttin' 
down on poor Edna. When you know she just about 
worships Miss Merrill. Everybody's fond of Miss 
Merrill in this town, but you. 

Deacon. Don't see any reason why they should 
be. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, I suppose it began when 
she offered to play her violin at Mrs. Deacon Piatt's 
funeral, when the church organ broke down. 

Deacon. (Acidly) That don't pay for her 
flouncin' around in her fine clothes, makin' other 
girls take a back seat while she walks off with their 
beaux. 



14 COSY CORNERS 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Triumphantly) There, Cousin 
Jonathan, I knew the devil would out if you only 
gave him time enough. I understand somethin' now 
that's been botherin' me a good while. 

Deacon. What you talkin' about? 

Mrs. Bartlett. You didn't have a word to say 
against Miss Merrill until she began goin* around 
with the minister. Now, nothn' she says or does 
is right. You was hopin' Clyde would fall in love 
with Edna, an' Miss Merrill upset your plans. 

Deacon. Plum foolishness! 

Mrs. Bartlett. An' it's your plans bein' upset 
that's turned you against the minister, an' made you 
balk at everythin' he tries to do to build up the 
church. 

Deacon. Don't you blame me because the Lord 
ain't smilin' on Hollister's pastorate. Look at the 
church catchin' fire an' almost burnin' down, I 
believe in signs an' warnin's. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Then, if you believe in signs an' 
warnin's, why didn't you believe the janitor six 
months ago when he gave us warnin' there'd be a fire 
some day if that bad spot in the chimney wasn't 
tended to? That's the kind of signs an' warnin's 
folks ought to pay attention to. 

(Enter Clyde, l.) 

Clyde. Well, Deacon Pettibone, how do you do 
this afternoon? 

Deacon. (Shortly) Same as usual, Parson Hol- 
lister. 

Clyde. That's good. 

Deacon. I didn't say it was "good." I've got 
rheumatism in my left knee. 

Clyde. Indeed? I'm sorry. 

Deacon. I ain't askin' for sympathy. 



COSY CORNERS 15 

Clyde. (Kindly) You're welcome to it just the 
same. (Exhihits stack of hymnbooks he is carry- 
ing.) Mrs. Bartlett, look at these hymnbooks. I 
just found them in the ruins, good as new, except 
for a slight scorch on the sides of one or two of 
them. I'm going to take them over to the parsonage. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, well, six hymnals v/ill help 
out quite a little ! Don't the Bible say that all things 
work together for good to those that love the Lord ? 
(Saying this for the Deacon's henefif.) That's why 
we all ought to keep right on smilin' even if we do 
have to hold meetin's in the back room of the parson- 
age until the church is repaired. 

Clyde. And how about the proceeds from the 
ice-cream social? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Gross receipts, $18.05. 

Clyde. (Rubbing his hands) Well, now, that's 
quite gratifying! 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Hating to break the news) 
But it isn't all profit. W^e had expenses of eleven 
dollars leavin' a net clear profit of $7.05. 

Deacon. The Lord ain't prosperin' the cause 
here for some reason or other. 

Clyde. (Depressed) I had hoped that after my 
strong appeal last Sunday the people of Cosy Cor- 
ners would turn out in better numbers. 

Deacon. There ain't so very many to turn out. 
I was countin' up yesterday, an' you ain't had but 
five new members in the eight m.onths since you 
came. 

Mrs. Bartlett. All young folks, though — the 
kind that's to carry on the work when we old ones 
are out of the way. 

Clyde. (With a sigh) I'll admit that it seems 
up-hill work sometimes. 

Deacon. (Eagerly) Alaybe you think you made 
a mistake not acceptin' the call to that city church? 



i6 COSY CORNERS 

Clyde. No, I have no regrets, Deacon Pettibone. 

A city church right at the start would have been too 
great a responsibihty for a young theologue Hke me. 
I want to build up the church here first, and make 
my calling and election sure. 

Deacon. Well, that's all right if you're sure that 
while you're tryin* to build up the church, you ain't 
bein' pulled down spiritually yourself. 

Clyde. Pulled down spiritually? I don't think 
I quite get what you mean, Deacon. 

Deacon. Well, when a young parson standin' up 
in his pulpit readin' a Bible text catches sight of a 
young woman comin' into the church an' loses his 
place right in the middle of a verse, watchin' her 
swishin' down the aisle — I say it don't look spiritual 
minded to me. 

Clyde. (Somezvhat abashed for the moment) 
You — refer to last Sunday, I presume? Well, I 
did lose my place for a moment. The church was 
in shadow, and when the door opened bringing the 
sunlight along with Miss Merrill — it was like a bit 
of rosy springtime bursting into the room. I assure 
you. Deacon, it was quite worth the embarrassment 
I experienced in losing my place. Why, the thrill 
of that vision of beauty inspired me then and there 
into delivering one of the best sermons I ever 
preached. Several persons spoke about it afterwards. 

Deacon. About your forgettin'? 

Clyde. About my sermon. 

Deacon. H'm ! What does anybody know about 
this Merrill young woman anyhow? 

Clyde. (Defensively) Why, that she has a 
charming personality, and is spending the summer 
at Cosy Corners. She likes Cosy Corners. 

Deacon. (Sarcastically) What in particular 
does she like? 

Clyde. Why, I've heard her speak of the church 



COSY CORNERS 17 

— the trees — the — the moonhght — yes, only last 
evening she was admiring the moonlight. (Gives 
unconscious sigh of happy recollection.) 

Deacon. Different from New York moonlight. 
I s'pose. Where has she been, an' what does she 
do for a livin'? 

Clyde. Why, I don't know. 

Deacon. Didn't you ever ask her? 

Clyde. Certainly not. 

Deacon. Why not? 

Clyde. (Losing his temper a trifle) Because I 
didn't care to. I considered those matters to be 
strictly her own business, and not at all yours or 
mine. 

Deacon. (Angrily) You needn't fly off at your 
elders, Parson Hollister. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Now, now, do calm down, both 
of you, an' don't say things you may be sorry for 
afterwards. Poor Miss Merrill ! Why, the last 
thing on earth she'd want to do would be to make 
trouble for anybody. Clyde, if not knowin' what 
Miss Merrill does for a livin' bothers Cousin Jona- 
than, I'd just as soon ask her myself some time. She 
couldn't think any thin' of my askin' her, I'm sure — 
an' me a woman old enough to be her mother. 
(Looks off R.) Gracious me, if there she ain't 
comin' up the road now ! 

Clyde. (Forgetting everything else at sight of 
AvTsJ And those youngsters Jim and Harry quar- 
reling about which one is to carry her parasol. 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Laughs) And now my Bob's 
got it instead ! 

Deacon. Young fools! 

Mrs. Bartlett. We were all foolish once, an' 
may be again before we get through with it. You 
never can tell. 

Avis. (Entering at r. with Bob, zvho turns and 



i8 COSY CORNERS 

shakes his fist at unseen rivals) My poor little 
parasol ! It's a wonder there's enough left of it to 
hold over my head. Oh, how do you do, Mr. Hol- 
lister — Mr. Pettibone? (Deacon snorts ungracious 
greeting in reply.) 

Clyde. Fine, Miss Merrill. And how are you 
to-day ? 

Avis. Almost too happy to live. Cosy Corners 
has a wonderfully bracing climate. 

Clyde. I'm glad you think so. 

Avis. So am I. 

Clyde. You're looking remarkably well this af- 
ternoon. 

Avis. Do I? I mean, am I? (They look at each 
other, laugh a bit foolishly, their mutual infatuation 
quite apparent to everyone.) 

Bob. (As Avis takes hack her parasol) Fd offer 
to treat you to ice-cream, Miss Merrill, only Mom 
made me take home the freezer a while ago. Dern 
it! 

Mrs. Bartlett. Bob Bartlett! Such language! 

Avis. Thank you, Bob, but I know all about 
how good that ice-cream was. Mrs. Bartlett, I was 
your very first customer this afternoon, wasn't I ? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Yes, an' I'm afraid I was stingy 
with you for fear the ice-cream wouldn't hold out. 
I wish I hadn't been now. 

Bob. It's a wonder Jim and Harry gave you a 
chance to eat it, walking on your heels the way they 
did! 

Deacon. Fools ! 

Mrs. Bartlett. The Lord made most men fools, 
an' I s'pose they have to act out their nature. 

LiBBiE. (Heard outside) Now, Jane — aw, yes. 
Come on over to my house — ^you promised ! 



COSY CORNERS 19 

(Enter Libbie dragging Jane, who is half willing, 
half reluctant,) 

Jane. Oh, how do, Bob? 

Libbie. Hello, Bob! 

Bob. (Rapidly, to" get rid of girls, the while keep- 
ing his enraptured eyes on Avisj Hello, Jane ! 
How do, Libbie ? But I saw you once before to-day, 
you know. 

Jane, Oh, did yuu? 

Libbie. Well, no harm in saying how do again, 
is there? 

Deacon. (Cuts into chatter harshly) You was 
goin' to ask Miss Merrill somethln', wasn't you, 
Cynthia ? 

Clyde. (Aside to Deacon, frozuning) There's 
no hurry about that, is there? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Dear me, Jonathan, do let folks 
set down an' rest themselves a minute first. (Ner- 
vously.) Let's see — I hope I've got all my dishes 
packed up in that basket. 

Avis. You wanted to ask me something? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Why, I ("Clyde m his un- 
easiness crumples up piece of cake — the only thing 
left outside the basket.) Clyde, you've gone an' 
ruined that forty-cent piece of cake — all we had left ! 

Clyde, Sorry. I — I'll pay for it gladly. Here's 
a dollar. Forty cents for the cake — sixty to pay 
damages. 

Mrs. Bartlett. All right. Here Libbie, Jane. 
Come eat this up to save the pieces. 

Libbie. Oh, isn't that nice ? 

Jane. Isn't it? (They proceed to eat cake.) 

Bob. (Seated at r. hy side of Avis and oblivious 
to all the zvorld outside) Miss Avis, I think you're 
a perfect angel. Even that spot of powder on your 
nose looks good to me. ("Avis laughs, produces 



20 COSY CORNERS 

vanity hag, looks in mirror, and dusts powder off 
her nose.) I had the oddest dream last night ! 

Avis. Did you, Bob? What was it? 

Bob. I dreamed I was climbing up miles and 
miles of winding spiral staircase — all made out of 
your curls ! 

Avis. How funny ! — What are you staring at ? 
Isn*t my hat on straight? 

Bob. . It's your eyes ! 

Avis. (Seeking to escape so much sentiment) 
Oh, er — Mrs. Bartlett, may I ask what it was you 
were going to ask me ? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Of course, though 'twasn't any- 
thin* special. Get up a minute an' let me sit by Miss 
Merrill, Bob. (Bob grudgingly obeys.) You know 
in a place like this, Miss Merrill, small an' sort of 
off the beaten track — an' where everybody knows 
everybody else, an' all about them — an' where we 

naturally want strangers to feel at home, why 

(Hesitates for moment, at a loss how to proceed.) 

Avis. (With feeling) Strangers do feel at home 
here. At least I do. Mr. Hollister has been so kind, 
introducing me around, ever since that day I wan- 
dered quite by accident into his church, unknown to 
anyone. I'll never forget that day. Mr. Hollister! 

Clyde. (With enthusiasm) I'll never forget it 
either. Miss Merrill! 

Avis. And now — why, I couldn't feel more at 
home anywhere ! 

Clyde. We hope it will always seem like that to 
you here. 

Deacon, Well, well, Cynthia, folks has other 
things to do besides settin' here. If you're goin' to 
do what you said, why don't you? 

Clyde. Deacon, it is all so trivial — so unnecessary. 

Deacon. How do you know it is? Miss Merrill 
owned up nobody knew her when she come here. 



COSY CORNERS 21 

Avis. Why, what's the matter? Has — has any- 
thing happened? Have I done anything to displease 
anyone? ^ Please tell me if I have. 

Clyde.' No, of course not, Miss Merrill. 

Mrs. Bartlett. No, indeed! Deacon Pettihone 
didn't mean anything like that. We was just won- 
derin' — that is, I thought it would he interestin' to 
know where you was born — an' — an' 

Df.acon. (Supplying the missing question) — an' 
if you're self sup])ortin'. 

Avis. Well, I was born in New York, and, yes, 
I certainly am self supporting. 

Mrs. Bartlett. I kind of thought you had that 
independent air a girl gets from lookin' out for 
herself. 

Deacon. Be you a music teacher? 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Uneasily) I thought / was 
attendin' to this, Jonathan. 

AvLS. I have taught — a very little. 

Deacon. (Persistently) Married or single? 

Avis. (With dignity) If I were married, Mr. 
Pctti1:)one, I'd be wearing a wedding-ring. 

Deacon. It don't always follow. (Takes up 
Avis' parasol and scrutinizes if.) H'm ! Borrowed 
that parasol from some of your gal friends to come 
on this trip with, I s'pose? 

Avis. What do you mean? I never borrow 
parasols. I earn quite enough to buy my own, and 
this one I selected especially to go with my cos- 
tume. 

Deacon. Sort of odd, when your name is Avis 
Merrill, that parasol should be marked with the 
initials C. B. (^Avis drops handkerehief. Deacon 
looks at it.) Handkerchief's marked C. B. too! 

Avis. (Half laughter, half scornfid) Why, you've 
missed your profession. You would have made a 
wonderful detective! 



22 COSY CORNERS 

Clyde. Deacon Pettibone, this catechising cannot 
be especially pleasant to Miss Merrill, and I object. 

Deacon. Well, I object to folks goin' around 
callin' themselves sometimes one name an' sometimes 
another. That's why I asked Miss Merrill if she 
was married, an' as a respectable church worker, I 
have a right to ask it. 

Clyde. Mr. Pettibone, this is infamous! Miss 
Merrill, you need not trouble even to answer his 
accusation ! I believe in you — we all believe in you. 

Avis. But you see what he suspects — that I some- 
times call myself by a name not my own? Well, it's 
the truth. 

Deacon. I guess I knew what I was talkin' about, 
Parson. 

Avis. (To Clyde j But, if in spite of that fact, 
I asked you still to believe in me, Mr. Hollister — 
could you do it? 

Clyde. (Takes her hands and looks searchingly 
info her eyes) I could — I do! 

Avis. And you, Mrs. Bartlett? 

Mrs. Bartlett. I don't understand, but you've 
got the kind of face I just can't help trustin'. 

Bob. Me, too! 

Libbie. Oh, Jane, I think it's all just too lovely 
and mysterious for words, don't you ? 

Jane. Yes, and especially Miss Merrill. 

Avis. Well, then, Mr. Pettibone, so as not to 
embarrass my friends, let me say that when I came 
to Cosy Corners, I wanted to avoid being stared at 
and criticized, and just rest and frolic like any girl, 
so I gave my real name instead of my professional 
one, which is Claudia Beresford. 

Mrs. Bartlett. What! You are Claudia — the 
violinist? 

Avis. When I'm not just everyday Avis Merrill. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Claudia! Why, my niece in 



COSY CORNERS 23 

Boston wrote about your playin' for them operatic 
concerts their music club's been ^vin' this past win- 
ter, an' makin' the biggest hit of anybody there. 
She's crazy about you ! 

LiBBiE. I just knew all along you were some- 
thing wonderful. Miss Merrill. 

Jane. So did I. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, got any more questions 
to ask, Jonathan? 

Deacon. No. Wouldn't have asked what I did 
'cept my conscience told me I'd ought to. I'm 
goin' to drive on down to my hardware store to git 
some nails. (Exits l.) 

Avis. Don't think any more about it, Mrs. Bart- 
lett. I wonder if I can get to the post-office before 
closing time. 

Bob. (Eagerly) Do you want me to 

Clyde. (Elbows Bob out of the zvay, gently) I'm 
sure you can. May I walk along with you? 

Avis. Yes, indeed. I'll be glad of your company, 
Mr. Hollister. (^Clyde and Avis exit r., chatting 
about fondness for walking, the lovely day, etc., ad 
lib.) 

Bob. (Ruefully, looking off) Ministers always 
get the best of everything. 

LiBBiE. (To JaneJ Let's tag along behind them. 
I'd just love to do my hair the way she does, now I 
know she's somebody. 

Jane. So would I. 

LiBBiE. Claudia! How romantic! 

Jane. How absolutely thrilling! Libbie, let's 
hurry ! 

(^Libbie and Jane exit r.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Claudia ! An' to think Jonathan 
wouldn't let us accept her oflfer to play at church 



24 COSY CORNERS 

services for nothin' this summer It makes me 

feel too cheap for words! 

Bob. Claudia ! No wonder I dreamed about that 
spiral staircase, and her away up at the top ! 

Mrs. Bartlett. Come down to earth, here. Take 
this table back over to Sophie's house an' tell her 
ma we're much obliged for the loan of it. I'll take 
the basket, an' when you come back through here, 
you can bring home my camp chairs. Well, I s'pose 
we've got everything we want. (Picks tip big bas- 
ket.) 

Bob. (His eyes traveling yearningly off r. after 
Avis) Maybe you have everything you want, Mom, 
but I ain't. (Picks up fable.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, I'm glad the social's over. 
I guess I'm sort of tired standin' on my feet so long. 

f'BoB exits at l. — Mrs. Bartlett at r. In a mo- 
ment, Morris enters at l., foKowed by Deacon 
Pettibone.j 

Deacon. Hold on, stranger. Didn't you call out 
my name? 

Morris. (With a laugh) Perhaps I did. Friend 
Pettibone. 

Deacon. Say, how did you know who I was? 

Morris. Recognized that old buggy. Thought 
you'd have fallen for a Tin Lizzie by this time. 

Deacon. Buggy suits me. I hate them tricky 
automobiles. I ain't never seen you before, have I? 

Morris. (Laughs) Well, I doubt if you'll ever 
see me again. The sight of this God-forsaken mud- 
hole of a town makes me sick. I droDoed off the 
last train in, and I hope to take the next one out. 

Deacon. Wait! I know who you are now! 
You're that scalawag dancin' teacher that boarded 



COSY CORNERS 25 

down to Skunk's Holler about ten years ago, an' run 
off with Hi Stevens' wife. 

Morris. ♦ What a memory ! 

Deacon. Did you marry Hi Stevens' wife? 

Morris. I wasn't born yesterday ! 

Deacon. What's become of her? 

Morris. The last I heard, she was headed for the 
demnitionbow wows, and traveling on high. 

Deacon. Morris Granby, you're still an unregen- 
erate scamp. 

Morris. Friend Pettibone, you're still a precious 
old busy-body. 

Deacon. About Hi Stevens' wife, now? 

Morris, Kindly cut out any further references 
to the dear, dead past, Deacon. In other words — 
forget it, as I have. 

Deacon. Be you still teachin' dancin'? 

Morris. Haven't for a thousand years. There's 
my card. Study it at your leisure. I'm headed for 
the Cosy Corners Hotel. 

Deacon. Hold on, hold on ! What's Claudia 
Beresford's name doin' on your card? 

Morris. She's one of the half dozen high-class 
musical celebrities under my management. I dropped 
off here to see her. 

Deacon. She was right here on this spot to an 
ice-cream social not half an hour ago. 

Morris. Is that so ? Can't understand her spend- 
ing her vacation in such a place as this. 

Deacon. Shinin' up to her, be you? 

Morris. Attractive though I am, she'd never see 
me in a thousand years, old dear — I'm here with a 
contract for next season I'm anxious for her to sign, 
that's all. 

Deacon. (Cautiously) Miss Beresford calls her- 
self Avis Merrill 'round this town. 



26 COSY CORNERS 

Morris. Merrill is her real name. She has a 
right to use it. 

Deacon. Well, as long as her beau don't object, 
s'pose 'tain't no business of mine. 

Morris. Ha, ha! So Avis has annexed a boob 
admirer in Cosy Corners, has she ? 

Deacon. She's in love with the minister of the 
Congregational Church, an' he with her, if that's 
what you mean. 

Morris. (Contemptuously) Bah, that's nothing 
serious. 

Deacon. Mebbe 'tain't, but they act like a couple 
of mooney fools. He looks at her as if she was the 
last piece of strawberry shortcake on the plate an* 
he wanted it. She looks at him as if she was beg- 
gin' him to grab her an' eat her up. She ain't at the 
hotel — she's out walkin' with him. 

Morris. A minister, eh? H'm! Interesting. I 
thought she didn't write with much enthusiasm about 
her next season's tour — What kind of a dub is this 
minister chap anyway? 

Deacon. Not much brains, but good lookin'. He 
ain't been popular, though, with some of the leadin' 
church members, the way he's actin' lately. Why, 
he had a chance of gittin' one of the nicest girls in 
town — well-oflf, respectable, an' strict brought up, 
before that fiddlln' Miss Merrill come here. 

Morris. Well, the town girl can have him back 
again ten days from now. 

Deacon. (Eagerly) How do you know she can ? 

Morris. Because I'll make a few shifts in my 
plans and begin Miss Merrill's tour a month earlier 
than I'd intended. That means she's back in New 
York inside of ten days. Once Avis begins work, 
she'll forget there ever was such a burg as Cosy 
Corners, minister or no minister! 



COSY CORNERS 27 

Deacon. Well, Hollister might get back his 
standin' if he behaved himself after she'd gone. 

Morris. Do you think I might run into them if 
I strolled around a bit? 

Deacon. Pretty likely to. (Following Morris 
as he starts toward r.) I tell you where they might 
be. There's a new soda-fountain drug store two 
blocks from here, an' mebbe (Exits after Mor- 
ris, R.*stiU talking.) 

(Enter Sophie from l., walking rapidly, followed 
by BoB.j 

Bob. Hold on. Wait a minute, Sophie. 

Sophie. (Pauses, and speaks very loftily) Oh, 
is that you, Mr. Bartlett? (Giggles nervously.) 

Bob. No, it's Bob. Say, you must be sore about 
something, calling me Mr. Bartlett. 

Sophie. Oh, is that so, Mr. Bartlett? (Giggles 
again.) 

Bob. (Ingratiatingly) Sophie, why didn't I see 
you just now when I carried in the table your ma 
loaned for the ice-cream social? 

Sophie. Because I saw you first, Mr. Bartlett, 
from behind the parlor-curtain. As you entered the 
front door, I went out the back one. Good-bye. 
(Starts off R.) 

Bob. Wait, hold on! (She stops, giggling ner- 
vously.) Gee, but you're mad! What for? Say, 
what made you stay home from the social ? 

Sophie. (With exaggerated surprise) Did you 
really notice I wasn't there, Mr. Bartlett? I sup- 
posed you were too busy staring at Miss Merrill to 
know whether any other girl was around or not. Not 
that I care. (Giggles.) No, indeed! (Giggles 
again.) 

Bob. Well, you giggle as if you did. 

Sophie. I giggled to keep from sneezing. 



28 COSY CORNERS 

Bob. The more you're all fussed up about some- 
thing, the more you giggle. 

Sophie. I do not. (Giggles.) 

Bob. You do so. Gee, you're awful cold to me, 
Sophie. I wish the ice-cream freezer was here so 
I could go and warm myself. 

Sophie. (Slightly mollified') Much you care 
whether I'm cold ! 

Bob. I care a lot, Sophie. 

Sophie. Except when Miss Merrill is present. 

Bob. (Mournfully honest) Yes, except then. 

Sophie. Indeed ! And you own it right to my 
face! Well, it's nothing but puppy-love, if you want 
to know it, and she knows it as well as I know it, 
and is just laughing right in your face behind your 
back, and everyone knows it, and don't you say 
another word to me again as long as you live! So 
there! (Exits, giggling, l. Bob exits r., whistling 
*' Sweet Hour of Prayer.") 

(Enter Clyde and Avis at r.) 

Clyde. Well, they've cleared about everything 
away but the see-saw. Little Marietta and some 
other children wanted one early this afternoon, so I 
allowed them to take that old saw-horse and a plank 
from the church basement. 

Avis. They must have had loads of fun. I 
missed so many games like that when I was a child. 

Clyde. But even as a child, doubtless, more than 
anything else, you wanted to be a musician ? 

Avis. (With moek seriousness) No, even as a 
child, I didn't. Shall I tell you the truth? More 
than anything else I wanted to be a witch and go 
flying on a broomstick. I tried to induce grand- 
father's stout cane to carry me over the chimney 
tops, but it absolutely refused to budge. And how 



COSY CORNERS 29 

terribly I wanted to go see-sawing with the other 
children ! But the dear, timid old aunt who brought 
•me up was always afraid I might injure my precious 
violin arm and would never let me try. Why, even 
now at the sight of that plank — (Laughs.) — that is 
— if you weren't a dignified minister—— 

Clyde. And you, a celebrated violinist — (Looks 
around.) There doesn't seem to be anybody in 
sight — (Defiantly) — no harm in it if there were! 
At least — if you want to assist with the other end 
of the board — we can put it in place. 

Avis. Oh, what a lark I (They put hoard across 
the sazv-horse, she at one end, he at other.) Though 
of course, it would really never do for either of us. 

Clyde. Would you like to see how it balances? 
Here, I'll hold the board until you're seated. ^ 

Avis. Oh, you needn't be afraid I'm afraid, for 
I'm not! (Each sits on an end of sec-sazv.) 

Clyde. Then we're off ! (They see-saw gently.) 

Avis. See-sawing at last! I can hardly believe 
it! I'm just a little freckle-nosed girl again, and 
you're a bare-foot boy playing hookey from school. 
Teacher will stand us in the corner when she finds 
out, but we don't care. 

Clyde. Speaking of school reminds me I dreamed 
last night you were a little school-teacher, and I was 
visiting the school. 

Avis. What a failure I'd make teaching school! 
I'd know at the start I could never make the big 
boys afraid of me. 

Clyde. No, they'd be too busy falling in love with 
you for that. Anybody'd fall in love with big blue 
eyes like yours! (He brings see-saw to a stop while 
Avis is at highest point.) 

Avis. (Mischievously, looking down at him) It's 
too bad to spoil it, but my big blue eyes are green. 



30 COSY CORNERS 

(See-saw sways gently up and down, zvhile both 
laugh happily.) 

Clyde. Of course they'd all want to walk home 
with you, but no boy would get a chance to walk 
home with the little school-teacher, because 

Avis. Not even the nicest one? 

Clyde. He least of all, because the minister would 
insist on walking home with the little school teacher 
himself. 

Avis. (Stops see-saw while Hollister is at high- 
est point) Oh, Mr. HolHster, would you? 

Clyde. (Nods) If I had to lick every boy in 
sight ! 

Avis. How thrilling! (Jumps off see-saw, and 
Clyde falls off.) Oh, forgive me, I didn't know it 
would act like that ! (Continues repentant exclama- 
tions.) 

Clyde. Both legs broken. That settles it. You'll 
have to stay here quite awhile to console me. (Gets 
up, laughing.) 

Avis. But it is time I was going home. I declare, 
the sun has almost set! 

Clyde. But it is so seldom I have the chance of 
a word with you alone. Sit down here a little while, 
won't you, just to please me ? 

Avis. I was dying for the invitation. (They sit 
together on one of the benches. Clyde sighs and 
ga^es at her, sentimentally.) Why do you sigh like 
that and look at me so solemnly? 

Clyde. Perhaps because finding out you're a 
great artist has put such a gulf between us ! 

Avis. But if a gulf weren't too deep, a minister 
might put on his rubber boots and wade across, 
mightn't he? 

Clyde. If he could afford the boots. (Both 
laugh. They are half playful, half serious.) That 
letter waiting for you at the post-office was from 



COSY CORNERS 31 

your business manager, you told me. That means 
New York is calling you once more. 

Avis. IVe been neglecting business letters, ne- 
glecting everything — even my precious violin! 

Clyde. Your violin! I'm going to confess some- 
thing. Fve been frightfully jealous of that instru- 
ment. 

Avis. Jealous of a poor old wooden violin that 
can't speak a word in its own defence ? 

Clyde. It can sing alluring songs that make you 
seem to forget the world. You snuggle it to your 
throat, rest your cheek against it, caress it with your 
fingers. I've a suspicion you whisper love messages 
to it sometimes. Who wouldn't be jealous of a 
violin? 

Avis. I am fond of my vioHn. My first maestro, 
old Giuseppe Baldani, willed it to me when he died, 
and I hope to keep it with me as long as I live. 

Clyde. You'll never be able to guess what know- 
ing you this summer has meant to me, Miss Merrill, 
and how I shall miss you when you're gone. 

Avis. I'll miss you, too — and everyone. But I 
hope to come back here next year — perhaps. It's 
been the very happiest summer of my life! 

Clyde. Has it— really? Oh, but you couldn't — 
no — it's madness even to — (Checks himself ahrupt- 
h-) — of course, you couldn't. 

Avis. (Softly) Couldn't what, Mr. Hollister? 

Clyde. Couldn't ever be tempted to give up a 
public career — ^the worship of crowds, for — any- 
thing else? 

Avis. That depends. What "anything else" do 
you mean? 

Clyde. I mean the passionate love, the lifetime 
loyalty of a chap who (Pauses.) It's unfor- 
tunate I happened to look toward the charred tim- 
bers of that poor old church just then. It brought 



32 COSY CORNERS 

me to my senses. An obscure country minister — I 
— we'll change the subject, and — Please forgive me. 
Miss Merrill. 

Avis. (Softly) There's nothing to forgive. 

Clyde. I — I mustn't keep you here any longer. 

Avis. Well, I've no conscience at all about keep- 
ing you here. I haven't been near the church since 
the fire. I wonder if you'd mind taking me over it — 
just once — before I leave Cosy Corners? 

Clyde. You mean — now? 

Avis. Yes, now. 

Clyde. Gladly — of course. But it's rather deso- 
late looking — those charred timbers (They exit 

at L.) 

(Enter Deacon Pettibone and Morris, r.J 

Deacon. I ain't sure — where's my specs- 



(Piits them on.) There's your fiddlin' girl an* the 
Parson now — makin' for the church. Come on! 

Morris. H'm ! I don't want to talk before him. 
Can't you take him ofif my hands somehow? 

Deacon. Pd jest as soon tackle him to help look 
for some more hymnbooks in the ruins ; an' tell her 
there's someone waitin' here to see her. 

Morris. Pettibone, you're a natural born strate- 
gist. It's a wonder the world has let you linger in 
Cosy Corners so long. 

(Enter Edna, l.j 

Deacon. (Puts away glasses) Well, well, Edna, 
what's kept you down to the Center f oolin' around ? 
Why, it's most supper time now! 

Edna. It's a holiday and the grocery only opened 
up for half an hour. I had to wait. 

Morris. Why, this isn't little Edna Pettibone I 



COSY CORNERS 33 

used to see swinging on your front gate when I lived 
here? 

Edna. (Looks inquiringly at Morris^ Why, 
who 

Deacon. Yes, 'tis, but she ain't got time to stop 
an' meet strangers. Hurry along, Edna. I want 
supper on the table when I get home, an' I'm comin' 
as soon as I've seen the Parson about somethin'. 

Edna. I'll get it as fast as I can, Father. But 
things take time to cook. (Exits R.J 

Morris. Nice looking girl, Deacon, even if you 
didn't introduce me. I wouldn't have done anything 
but bite her head off, you know. (Looks off R.J 
They seem to be strolling beyond the church. 
They'll be out of sight in a minute. 

Deacon. I'll ketch up with 'em. (Exits L.J 

Edna. (Enters from R.j Mr. Granby! 

Morris. Well, Edna, what is it? (Rises from 
bench and goes toward her.) 

Edna. You won't mention to Father that I was 
ever in that children's dancing-class of yours, will 
you ? He never knew about it. He thinks my danc- 
ing was just a natural gift from the devil ! 

Morris. Of course I won't mention it. I'll never 
forget how you broke your little savings bank open 
to pay for your lessons. Do you dance as well as 
ever ? 

Edna. I would if I had the chance. I love it 
same as I always did. Father won't let me even sit 
out a dance any more. He seems to grow more 
strict every day. 

Morris. Best little dancer in the class, you were. 

Edna. All I care for in this world is dancing and 
pretty clothes, and I can't have either one ; but don't 
tell father I said so. Good-bye. 

Mor.Kis. Wait a second. Here, take my card. 
And if you ever want to make a living outside this 



34 COSY CORNERS 

town — you could be a professional dancer without 
half trying. 

Edna. Oh, do you think so? But father would 
never let me leave Cosy Corners. 

Morris. Anyhow, there's my card. I might hear 
of something to your advantage, some day, you 
know. 

Edna. Thank you. If I could only make my liv- 
ing, I — Mercy! I hope father hasn't looked back 
and seen me. I — I'll keep this card — and — and — 
don't forget what you promised — about being on the 
look-out — will you? 

Morris. No. You can count on that, little girl. 

Edna. Thank you. (Exits -r.) 

^Morris fakes out cigar and lights it, after looking 
off L. Enter Avis l.J 

Avis. Morris Granby! What a surprise! Mr. 

Pettibone said that someone Why, what on 

earth ? 

Morris. Young lady, my last three letters re- 
garding next season's contracts failed to bring a re- 
ply. I thought I'd show up and see what the trouble 
was. I've been all over town trying to find you. 
You're some little will-o-the-wisp ! 

Avis. I'm sorry I've been so slow about answer- 
ing your letters, Morris. It was quite beastly of me, 
but really, I never meant to put you to any extra 
trouble on my account. I was having such a lovely 
time it seemed I just couldn't fasten my mind on 
next season's work and contracts and all that sort 
of thing. But I intended writing you to-night — in- 
deed I did — and telling you — well, telling you more 
about why my stay here has been so pleasant. (Looks 
off L.) I wonder what they're talking about. I 



COSY CORNERS 35 

thought Mr. Hollister intended following right after 
me. 

Morris. Mr. Hollister? 

Avis. Yes. He's a wonderful young minister, 
Morris. I wish you could hear him preach some- 
time ! And he's so unselfish and sincere, and doesn't 
seem to realize his great talent at all. Why, I don't 
think I've ever heard hetter sermons. 

Morris. Well, after I'm dead, I may have some 
spare time for such things, but not now. Er — -shall 
we walk up to your hotel? 

Avis. No, I think we might as well talk here. I'm 
sure Mr. Hollister will be along directly. 

Morris. Have you looked at that provisional con- 
tract I mailed you? 

Avis. Yes, I glanced it over. It's a better offer 
than I had supposed you could afford to make me 
for a couple of years yet. 

Morris. I'm willing to be generous. You've 
made good. You've reached a point in the road now 
you've been struggling for ever since you came 
under my management as a child. So I'll just sign 
you up while I'm here, and then 

^Deacon enters, l., followed by Clyde.J 

Avis. Here's Mr. Hollister now. This is my 
manager, Mr. Granby, Mr. Hollister. 

Clyde. (Offers hand) How do you do. 

Morris. (Shakes hands with Clyde j How do. 
Miss Merrill was just speaking of you. 

Deacon. (Peevishly) I tried to get the Parson 
to attend to huntin' for hymnbooks, but he showed 
more interest in what was goin' on here than in 
savin' money for the church. 

Avis. I'm glad Mr. Hollister was interested in 
what was going on here. I wanted him to be. 



36 COSY CORNERS 

Morris. Then it may not be out of place for me 
to inform him that the contract I'm offering you 
next season is the chance of a lifetime — easy going- 
and big returns — a trip abroad 

Avis. But, Morris, there are other things to be 
considered than easy goings and big returns, and 
trips abroad and all that — when other things come 
along for a girl. 

Morris. You mean — you don't like the contract 
I'm offering? 

Avis. N — no, but I'm considering another con- 
tract — of a different sort. 

Morris. Blue pencil anything you don't like in 
this one, Avis — and write in what you want. I'm 
willing to trust you — and then perhaps one or both 
of these gentlemen will be willing to witness your 
signature. Here — I've a fountain pen handy 

Deacon. I'm willin' to witness. Be you, Parson? 

Avis. (Rejects offer of pen) Morris, I'm awfully 
afraid I'm going to disappoint you about that con- 
tract — any contract. 

Morris. Why, to quit the game now would be a 
horrible mistake — one you'd regret all your life. 

Clyde. (In low voice to Avis, hardly conscious 
of others) I was carried away by my feelings just 
now, but we who labor in the Lord's vineyard must 
often follow difficult roads. What I have to offer 
may mean poverty, obscurity, struggle, not for the 
few years while you are young and there's hope 
ahead, but even in old age and to the end. 

Avis. But the poverty, obscurity, struggle — 
they'd all be glorified, Clyde, because of the blessed- 
ness of sharing them with you ! 

Clyde. Think — think again, dearest. I'll not 
blame you whatever decision you make. Remember, 
once having chosen, there'd be no turning back. 

Avis. There'll be no turning back. When love 



COSY CORNERS 37 

comes knocking at a woman's heart, there's only one 
answer she can give — Clyde! (Goes info Clyde's 
arms.) 

('Morris fears up contract and throzvs the pieces in 
the air. Starts off R., followed by Deacon. j 

CURTAIN 



ACT II 

Time : February of the folloiving year. 

Scene: Dining-room of parsonage, furnished in 
country style. Door in flat leads into hall, 
zvhere hat rack is visible. Door up R. leads into 
kitchen. Door up l. leads into Pastor's study. 
Part of study interior visible. Door dozvn L. 
Combination book-case and desk against zvall l. 
Table c. Dozvn R. fireplace zvith arm chair in 
front of it. Rockers and other chairs ad lib. 
To R. of c. door a zvorn trunk against zvall, with 
''Claudia" printed on side in large letters. Pic- 
tures and other furnishings ad lib. 

Discovered: Avis sitting by table, busily embroid- 
ering slipper. Enter Amanda from kitchen, 
carrying a flat cake in tin. 

Amanda. (Displaying flat cake) Here's the cake 
you was bakin' for your husban's birthday. 

Avis. (Looks disappointedly at cake) Did it 
fail? 

Amanda. No'm. It never riz. 

Avis. Oh, dear. I did think that cake was going 
to behave. What's the matter with it, Amanda? 

Amanda. I thought of tellin' you you was leavin' 
out the bakin' powder, but seein' as I only work out 
for an accommodation (Bell rings.) Land 

38 



COSY CORNERS 39 

sakes, I ain't done nothin' all mornin* but run to 
answer the bell People bringin' in bundles for that 
church rummage sale. (Opens door disclosing Mrs. 
Bartlett.j How do, Mrs. Deacon Bartlett? 

Mrs. Bartlett. How do, Amandy. 

Avis. Mrs. Bartlett, I'm so glad it's you ! Now 
I know I've really got back from New York and 
am at home again. 

Amanda. Land sakes, if bein' here three hours, 
upsettin' a milk bottle, an' spoilin' a cake ain't 
enough to make you realize you've got home, I don't 
see how I\Iis' Bartlett's comin' here is goin' to do it ! 

Avis. Figuratively speaking, I meant, Amanda. 
Please don't be cross. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Avis, seems as if you'd been 
away five weeks instead of five days — an' with 
Clyde gone at the same time to that church-work- 
ers' conference (Turns to Amanda.^ 'Mandy, 

I don't want to keep you out of the kitchen. 

Amanda. I ain't busy more'n usual. What's 
the news? (Sits in rocking-chair.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Nothing you Methodists would 
be interested in, 'Mandy. (Takes another rocking- 
chair.) 

Amanda. I'm willin' to put myself out to hear 
about Congregationalist troubles any day in the 
week. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Sorry to disappoint you, but I 
haven't any troubles to tell. 

Amanda. Then mebbe you don't know that while 
Mr. and Mis' Hollister was away from home, more 
of that livin'-room ceilin' cracked ready to fall down 
— right over them benches you're usin' for Sunday 
School. If you don't get back into your church 
pretty soon, your scholars'll be comin' over to join 
us Methodists where they'll feel safe from harm. 



40 COSY CORNERS 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Changes chairs again, ignoritvg 
Amanda, speaks to Avis) Pleasant day, ain't it? 

Avis. Yes (Looks meaningly toivard 

Amanda J Just a little cloudy — but might be worse. 
(^Amanda and Mrs. Bartlett rock.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Shozus bundle) I brought over 
three bungalow aprons for the rummage-sale. They 
was give to me last Christmas, an' every last one of 
'em is too small. 

Avis. They're sure to be popular at the sale. I 
do hope we'll raise enough money to replace the 
Sunday School reading desk that was burned. 

Amanda. I should think you'd be wantin' a Sun- 
day School room to put it in before.you spent money 
buyin' a desk. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Amandy, I just feel I'm hinder- 
in' you from your work. 

Amanda. I ain't said you was. (They rock 
again.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. As I was sayin', Mrs. Hollister, 
it's a pleasant day out. Still it does seem to me con- 
siderable like thunder an' lightnin'. (Rocks violently 
and glares at Amanda.J But maybe it only seems 
like that because I smell somethin' burnin'. 

Amanda. (Starts up in horror) My beans! 
Well, 'tain't my fault with folks comin' in all hours 
of the day interruptin' me. An' bein' as I only 

work out for an accommodation (Picks up 

cake and shows it to Mrs. Bartlett en route for 
door.) Cake. Flat. Baked it herself. None of my 
doin's. (Exits into kitchen.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. I declare, sometimes I don't 
know which one gets on my nerves the most — 
Amandy or Jonathan Pettibone. I should think 
you'd have enjoyed bein' in New York for a spell 
an' gettin' away from them both. 

Avis. I was so busy taking my stage trunks out 



COSY CORNERS 41 

of storage, I didn't have time to think much of any- 
thing else. (Points to trunk.) Fve brought every- 
thing I ever owned back with me. I really got home- 
sick for Cosy Corners, and looked forward to train 
time. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Hotv I did miss 3'ou and Clyde 
both at last Wednesday night's meetin' ! It wasn't a 
regular prayer service. Mr. Umpstead that's sub- 
stitutin' over in Firetown delivered a sermon instead, 
on Deacon Pettibone's invitation — an' of all the poor 
preachin' 

LiBBiE. (Putting her Jiead in at door r.) May 
Jane and I come in? Amanda was out in the yard, 
and directed us the kitchen way. 

Avis. I'm glad to see you, Libbie. And Jane, too. 
(Girls enter.) 

Jane. We were here yesterday to ask if 3^ou'd 
got home. We're awfully glad you're back again, 
aren't we, Libbie? ^ 

Libbie. I should say we were. (Displays an old 
bird cage she has brought with her.) Here's a bird- 
cage we haven't any more use for at home. I 
brought it for the rummage sale. It's all right ex- 
cept the seed-cup and the door. 

Avis. Thank you. (Takes cage.) I hope some- 
body has a bird that'll just fit it. I can regild it 
myself. 

Jane. (Produces diary) I'm contributing this 
book. It's a diary. 

Avis. That's nice. (Takes hook.) 

Jane. I used it up to January eleventh and then 
I couldn't think of any more to write. It's all blank 
pages after that. 

Libbie. Dear me, it does seem good to sit down 
and rest my feet. I'm terribly tired ! 

Mrs. Bartlett. Tired? Why a girl your age 
oughtn't to know she has any feet. Wait till you're 



42 COSY CORNERS 

married an' have to run your legs off doin' house- 
work. 

LiBBiE. But Jane and I aren't ever going to get 
married, are we; Jane? 

Jane. Never, because our friendship for each 
other is simply ideal. We just hate boys, both of us, 
and always will. 

LiBBiE. We'd rather go with each other to pic- 
nics and things than with a tiresome boy any time. 
Jane. Boys are nothing but rude and insignifi- 
cant animals. 

LiBBiE. And we just scorn their very existence. 
Mrs. Bartlett. My, my ! Avis, just give them 
two goslin's a few more months, an' all the boys 
in town vv^ill have to run to get away from 'em ! 

Jane. Why, Mrs. Bartlett, how can you say such 
a thing? I think we'd better be going, Libbie. 
fjANE and Libbie rise.) 

Avis. Don't hurry away. The rummage sale is 
set for next Saturday. We can talk about that. 

Libbie. Well, you see, Mrs. Hollister, we can't 
stay anyhow because we haven't finished our hike. 

Jane, We have a mile more to do, but we just 
couldn't pass the parsonage without stopping to see 
you. 

Libbie. Because next to each other, we love you, 
Mrs. Hollister. Don't we, Jane? 
Jane. Umhm. 

Libbie. And we hope Mr. Hollister will preach in 
Cosy Corners forever and forever. 

Avis. My husband will feel complimented when 
I tell him that. 

Jane. What do you think we took along with us 
on our hike? 

Avis. Sandwiches ? 

Libbie. No, indeed — something educational — an 
almanac. 



COSY CORNERS 43 

Jane. It's just full of important facts. 

LiBBiE. Every time we sat down to rest we made 
it a rule to commit one fact to memory, didn't we, 
Jane? 

Jane. Conscientiously* 

Avis. Do tell us some of the facts — we*d like to 
share them with you. 

Jane. Go on — tell one, Libbie. 

LiBBiE. No, you. 

Jane. I can't seem to think of any right now ! 

LiBBiE. Being asked so sudden and everything — 

Jane. Oh, I remember one — an important one, 
too! 

Mrs. Bartlett. (In undertone) I was afraid 
this would happen. 

Jane. It comes under the chapter headed "Help 
in case of accidents." It says dash cold water over 
a person struck with lightning — so if Libbie ever is, 
I'll know what to do. Well, good-bye. 

Libbie. Good-bye. 

Avis. Don't forget the rummage sale. 

Jane and Libbie. We won't ! (They exit, c.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Goin' back to the subject we was 
talkin' about, I didn't want to tell you first thing I 
got in, Avis, but Deacon Pettibone day before yes- 
terday backed out of loanin' the buildin' com.mittee 
money to go on with buildin' operations, an' the 
builders have quit work. 

Avis. Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that ! It will be 
an awful blow to Clyde. Couldn't the builders be 
induced to go ahead and give us time on the pay- 
ments ? 

Mrs. Bartlett. The trouble is they need con- 
siderable cash for supplies right at the start. Jona- 
than promised the loan — he'd ought to when he's the 
richest man in Cosy Corners — but he says now that 
if your husban' hasn't influence enough to raise the 



44 COSY CORNERS 

money from the congregation, it's a sign the Lord 
don't want him here; an' Clyde gettin' more an' 
more popular with the young folks every day! It 
just makes me so wrathy with Cousin Jonathan I 
feel like pullin' his whiskers an' hearin' him yell for 
mercy ! 

Avis. How much money would it take to per- 
suade the builders to go ahead ? 

Mrs. Bartlett. About five hundred dollars, the 
contractor said. There, there, don't pucker up your 
pretty forehead worryin' about it. 

Avis. I'm thinking of Clyde. I really believe 
Deacon Pettibone is trying to force him to resign 
before his year is out. Why is he so against my 
husband, I wonder? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, for one thing, he ain't a 
prospective son-in-law an' Mr. Umpstead — bein' a 
widower — might be. An' if the minister was Jona- 
than's son-in-law, he could run the church pretty 
much to suit himself. Runnin' the Cosy Corners 
Church seems about as important to Jonathan Petti- 
bone as gettin' elected President an' runnin' the 
United States might seem to somebody else. 

Avis. Mrs. Bartlett, if I weren't a minister's wife 
and didn't think it wicked to call names, I'd tell 
Deacon Pettibone to his face that he was nothing 
but a miserable, spiteful, persecuting, selfish old 
spider — so there ! But of course, I mustn't lose my 
temper. 

Mrs. Bartlett. No, nor me either. Darn Dea- 
con Pettibone anyhow ! (Slight pause.) 

Avis. I'd just like to let him know there are 
other ways of getting money than borrowing from 
him. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Old Mr. Carey might let us 
have it — ^he's the second biggest tax-payer in Cosy 



COSY CORNERS 45 

Corners, but he's so sick nobody's allowed even to 
see him. 

Avis. Mrs. Bartlett, don't say anything about this 
to anyone, but I had the offer of an engagement 
while I was away, to play in a high class vaudeville 
theatre in New York, and as it happens it's the 
very week Clyde will be away on that College Lec- 
ture trip. I turned the offer down, of course, but a 
letter followed me making a still better oft'er, and — 
well, it seems almost like fate. If I only dared take 
the chance of Clyde's forgiving me for it after- 
wards ! 

Mrs. Bartlett. Forgivin' you? I don't see why 
he shouldn't. There's nothin' wicked about violin 
playin', or my niece in Boston wouldn't have had 
you for her music club. 

Avis. But Clyde's sort of jealous of my music. 
Yes, he is. He owns it himself. He doesn't even 
like me to practice for fear I'll be tempted back to 
public life. He says he feels sometimes like shoot- 
ing holes in my violin. Of course he always laughs 
when he says it — but there's a fiery flash behind the 
laugh. It may be that far-oft* strain of Italian blood 
in Clyde that makes him jealous — the same emo- 
tional something that goes into his sermons and 
makes them almost sweep you off your feet. But, 
oh, how I should love to put the money in his dear 
hands and say, "There, just wave that under Deacon 
Pettibone's nose and ask him how he likes the per- 
fume of it." Eh, Mrs. Bartlett? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Avis, I believe if Providence 
intends for that buildin' money to come from your 
playin', you'll find that Clyde won't be allowed to 
stand in the way of it. An' if you want my advice, 
it's this — think it over — an' meantime be pickin' out 
your stage clothes — the ones 3^ou'd wear if you de- 
cide to go. (Rises.) 



46 COSY CORNERS 

Avis. I haven't very long in which to make up 
my mind. I had intended to write and reject their 
offer again to-da}^ 

Mrs. Bartlett. Don't you do it. Sort of sound 
Clyde — from a distance like — before you do. An* 
listen. Next time I come over, I want to see you 
in one of your concert dresses — an' see you stand 
up an' play in it — the way you did in Boston, an' the 
vv^ay you will if you take that vaudeville engagement. 

Avis. That's very simple, if it would give you 
any pleasure, Mrs. Bartlett. 

Mrs. Bartlett. It would — an' I'm just goin* to 
hope you'll see your way clear to earnin' that five 
hundred dollars. 

Avis. You're a darling! (Kisses Mrs. Bart- 
lett. j Keep on hoping and hoping hard. (Shows 
Mrs. Bartlett to door and opens it, disclosing 
Sophie in the act of ringing the hell.) 

Sophie. Oh, how do. Mis' Bartlett. 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Rather distantly) How do you 
do, Sophie Anderson? (She exits.) 

Avis. Well, well, Sophie, I suppose that bundle 
means you have brought something to the rummage 
sale. 

Sophie. Yes, it's grandma's winter coat. It has 
a few moth-holes in it, but it's very good material. 

Avis. All right, dear. I'll undo it after avv^hile, 
when I begin to arrange things for the sale. 

Sophie. I'm glad you're back from New York — 
Did you notice how offish Mrs. Bartlett acted with 
me when I spoke to her ? 

Avis. Why, no, and if she did, it*s only because 
she had other things in her thoughts just then. You 
don't mind my going on with embroidering this slip- 
per, do you? (Takes up embroidery again.) 

Sophie. Not at all. Excuse me, and I suppose 
you'll think it's gush, but I do think you're the sweet- 



COSY CORNERS 47 

est girl that ever lived ! I don't wonder Bob used to 
be in love with you — We've had an awful quarrel 
since you've been away. 

Avis. (Abstractedly) Five hundred dollars. 

Sophie. What ? 

Avis. Excuse me, dear, I was thinking of some- 
thing else for a moment. 

Sophie. Do you and Mr. Hollister have quar- 
rels? 

Avis. (With dignity) My husband doesn't be- 
lieve in quarrels. He's a minister. 

Sophie. Bob and I aren't even on speaking terms. 
(Giggles.) 

Avis. It's nothing serious, though, Sophie. You're 
giggling ! 

Sophie. I always giggle when my heart is break- 
ing. 

Avis. (Thinking of the church) Money is so 
terribly necessary in this world of ours. 

Sophie. But money has nothing to do with it! 

Avis. (With a start) Nothing to do with what? 

Sophie. My quarreling with Bob. It's all his 
mother's fault. 

Avis. (Trying to take an interest and embroider- 
ing nervously) How can that be? 

Sophie. She doesn't like our going together be- 
cause we're both so young. And Bob is just scared 
to death of her, and when I told him last Sunday 
that since he was such a scaredy calf, we'd better be 
nothing but the merest acquaintances from now on, 
he was heartless enough to say "There are others." 

Av^s. You mustn't let trifling squabbles spoil 
your and Bob's happiness. Why, I wouldn't have 
the least little shadow come between Clyde and me 
for the world ! (Bell rings.) That's his ring now ! 
He must have forgotten his key. Oh, let me hide 



48 COSY CORNERS 

these slippers ! Thank heaven I've finished them. 
(Runs off L.) 

Sophie. (Calls off to AvisJ Good-bye, I'm go- 
ing out the kitchen way. (Runs into Amanda en- 
tering from kitchen.) Oh, excuse me, did I jar you? 
(Exits R.) 

Amanda. Snapped a rib right in two, an* if I 

wasn't workin' out just for an accommodation 

(Opens door, admitting Clyde, j 

Clyde. Good morning, Amanda. 

Amanda. Good afternoon. It's dinner time an' 
ready to put on the table. 

Clyde. Well, I'm hungry as a wolf. (Sets down 
satchel and takes off hat.) Where's Mrs. Hollister? 

Avis. (Enters at l.J Here I am. Oh, it seems 
ages since I saw you last ! (Runs into his arms.) 

Clyde. Centuries ! 

Amanda. Such gushin' ! Dinner's been all ready 
for half an hour, Mr. Hollister. 

Clyde. Is that so? I'm sorry my train couldn't 
be persuaded to get in ahead of time. Nothing 
would have pleased me better. 

('Amanda e.vits at r.) 

Avis. Was there a good attendance at the Church 
Workers' Convention? 

Clyde. Fine. It was all very inspiring. Did you 
have a good time in New York ? 

Avis. Except for the visit to the storage-house. 
A storage-house always seems to me a kind of vault 
for dead furniture, dead belongings, and dead hopes. 
I was glad to rescue my stage clothes and bring them 
all to Cosy Corners with me. 

Clyde. Although you'll have no use for such 
things here. Thank heaven the public has no claim 
on you now! 



COSY CORNERS 49 

Avis. I — I'll put some of my old hats and things 
in the rummage sale. They're out of style now and 
too giddy for a minister's wife anyhow. 

Clyde. (^Amanda, during their conversation, 
passes in and out, setting tea-service, chicken-pie, 
beans, bread, etc., on the table) I met Mrs. Bartlett 
down street. I was sorry to hear the building had 
come to a standstill. 

Avis. Yes, the only thing that has moved is the 
plastering there in the living-room. It's cracked 
again. But everything's got to come out right some- 
how — church and all! 

Clyde. My little comforter! How did I ever live 
without you? 

Amanda. (Disapproving of threatened embrace 
betzveen Clyde and Avis, sets dozvn chair with a 
bang, making them both jump back with a start) 
Weil, as long as dinner's ready, I don't see any sense 
in your standin* up there, f Avis and Clyde sit, and 
A.MANDA fakes her stand back of table.) 

Avis. I forgot about dinner. 

Clyde. Sorry to have kept you waiting, Amanda. 

Amanda. Well, ain't we goin' to have grace an' 
Bible verses ? 

Clyde. (As he and Avis bow heads reverently ) 
"Take therefore no thought for the morrow, for the 
morrow shall take thought for itself ; sufficient unto 
the day is the evil thereof." 

Avis. (In subdued tones) "Ask and it shall be 
given you ; seek and you shall find ; knock and it 
shall be opened unto you." 

Amanda. (In tone of extreme severity) "All his 
days also he eateth in darkness, and he hath much 
sorrow and wrath with his sickness." (Joins quo- 
tation to her personal remarks in same tone, and 
tvithout a pause.) This side-dish is some of Mis' 
Hollister's cookin* an* she calls it "toad in a hole." 



50 COSY CORNERS 

Avis. (Explains to ClydeJ But it really has 
nothing to do with toads, dear. It's beefsteak cut- 
tings. 

Clyde. (After he is served, begins to eat) This 
sharp weather has given me a splendid appetite. 
Have you tasted this toad in a hole, Amanda ? 

Amanda. Yes. It tasted to me consid'rble as if 
the toad had crawled into a hole an' died. (Clyde 
and Avis hastily put down knives and forks in an- 
noyance at Amanda's zvords.) 

Clyde. I hope you didn't burn those precious 
little hands of yours again over the cook stove. 

Avis. I didn't. 

Clyde. Are you quite sure now? Let me see. 
(^Avis extends both hands across tabic. Clyde looks 
at them and is about to kiss them when Amanda 
gives a thump on tJie table zvith her fist.) 

Amanda. H'm! (Hands a cup to Clyde as he 
and Avis separate hastily.) That ain't the usual 
kind of coffee, but it's Mis' Hollister's orders. 

Avis. (Sweetly) Not my order — my suggestion, 
Amanda. (To Clyde, j Your sermons are such a 
tax on your brain, dear, and I read in the paper that 
coffeeteen assists the intellect. But if you don't 
care for it 

Clyde. (Tastes contents of cup, grimaces horri- 
bly, and almost chokes) My wife, I never tasted 
anything like it ! 

Amanda. Well, if there's any objection to the 
way / make coffee — — 

Avis. But there isn't. We only care for coffee- 
teen occasionally. 

Clyde. Yes, Amandy, occasionally is quite suffi- 
cient. 

Amanda. It ain't so much that I'm thinkin' about 
the coffee, as it is that I'm contemplatin' the fact 
that this is the first place in my life I was ever so 



COSY CORNERS 51 

demeaned as not to set down an' eat with the family, 
an' bein' as I only work out for an accomodation- 



Clyde., (Interrupts with smooth dignity) That's 
all, Amandy. If V\^e want anything else, we'll call 
for it. 

Avis. Yes, don't trouble yourself, Amandy. 

Amanda. (Makes Clyde and Avis jump again 
as she slaps table for emphasis) Yes, I will. Bein' 
a good Methodist, I always try to do my duty eveit 
in the home of a Congregationalist. (Exits r.) 

Avis. Now, it does seem a pity, doesn't it, that 
since it is your birthday, and you came home to find 
Amandy cross and everything, you didn't have any 
nice comfy slippers to put on? Don't you think so? 

Clyde. My shoes are a trifle damp. 

Avis. Shut your eyes tight, tight, oh so tight. 

Clyde. You're acting very mysteriously, you little 
witch ! What's it all about ? 

Avis. You'll soon find out. Don't peek, and don't 
dare flutter an eyelash till I count three. (Reaches 
inside door L. and gets slippers. As she does so 
Amanda enters carrying the flat cake to show to 
Clyde. Avis drops slippers, snatches the cake, car- 
ries it out in kitchen. As Amanda goes into kitchen 
again, Avis hastily re-enters and gets slippers.) 

Clyde. Well, well, what are all these prepara- 
tions? The suspense is getting to be awful! 

Avis. (With a slipper in each hand, holding them 
up before him) One, two, three. 

Clyde. (Opens eyes, and exclaims with great 
appreciation) Slippers ! 

Avi?. (Doivn on knees beside him, explains en- 
thusiastically) I embroidered them all myself. 
Aren't they darling? Do you like them? Amandy 
couldn't do as well, could she? See all the little 
holes in my finger where the needle slipped! 



52 COSY CORNERS 

Clyde. Blessed, busy little finger — what a shame ! 
(Kisses finger. She sits in his lap.) 

Avis. How do you like the design, Clyde? 

Clyde. Why, what is it? 

Avis. It's a conventionalized sea-serpent chasing 
a mermaid. There wasn't room enough for both on 
one slipper, so I put the sea serpent on one foot and 
the mermaid on the other. (They embrace zviih 
laughing childish abandon.) 

Clyde. They're wonderful, dear. What can I 
say pretty enough to thank you? (They go back to 
fable.) 

Avis. Nothing, because I know all your pretty 
speeches backward by heart. Just let me see you 
wear them when you want to be comfy studying 
your sermons, and that will be all the ^hanks I want. 
(Instinctively they bend to kiss one another across 
the table. Amanda enters at door r., coughs harsh- 
ly, and they start apart, looking down as if con- 
templating dish.) 

Amanda. Well, what's the matter? 

Clyde. (Looking at dish more closely) After 
all, the beans are not 7nuch burned. 

Avis. (Same manner) Sure enough, they're not. 

Amanda. (Severely) Maybe it's the beans, but 
it looked considerable to me as if you an* your wife 
was goin' to kiss each other. 

Clyde. (Defiantly) Well, is there anything rep- 
rehensible in that? 

Amanda. I was brought up a strict Methodist, 
an* I never did believe in young married folks bein' 
too familiar with each other. (Produces newspaper, 
post card and letter.) Mail just come. Biff Per- 
kins brought it. (Hands paper to Clyde. J Congre- 
gationalist. Looks thinner every week, like it was 
goin* in a decline or somethin'. (Hands post card to 
Avis.J Says your dressmaker can't come till week 



COSY CORNERS 53 

after next. (Hands letter to Clyde.) Looks like 
a store bill when you hold it up to the light. Well 
if you're through. I'll clear the table. I've got 
mincemeat to chop for the refreshment table at that 
rummage sale. 

Clyde. Well, I suppose an hour's meditation in 
my study on next Sunday's sermon wouldn't be a 
bad idea. Please see that I'm not disturbed, Amandy. 
f Avis and Clyde rise from table.) 

Amanda. (To herself, as she clears table) If 
rd ever thought I'd reached my time of life and 
found myself choppin' mince-meat in the kitchen 
of a Congregationalist — But seein' as I only work 
out for an accommodation, I s'pose I'd ought not to 
complain. (Exits r.^ mith tray and dishes.) 

Avis. Amandy's positively rude. I'm afraid I 
haven't much discipline. And I'm not a good cook 
and all-round capable as T should like to be. Playing 
the violin — that seems all I was ever good for. 

Clyde. (Refers to slippers) But haven't you 
just shod me with fresh inspiration ? 

Avis. But I want to do more. I wish I could 
harness my musical knowledge some way to make it 
help out with your problems — really help. 

Clyde. Just to have you here, Avis, and to know 
you belong to me is help enough. You're right in- 
side my heart, and I've shut and locked the door. 

Avis. Clyde, I want to ask you something — Sup- 
pose a woman determined to carry out a certain 
course of conduct unbeknown to the man she loved, 
but that she felt was for his good. Could he for- 
give her after he found out what her motives had 
been? 

Clyde. (Amused) What's this? Some kind of 
a puzzle, or have you been reading another of those 
problem novels? 



54 COSY CORNERS 

Avis. Of course, I didn't mean wicked or hor- 
rible deceit, Clyde, but just keeping the man in the 
dark so he wouldn't object to her accomplishing 
something big and wonderful for his sake. 

Clyde. Nothing big and wonderful was ever 
accomplished by deceit. It's an ugly word, no matter 
how we may try to disguise its meaning. I don't 
like to hear my little wife plead for it in any form. 

Avis. I — I wasn't pleading — it was just suppos- 
ing a case, you know. 

Clyde. (Kindly) Yes, of course, I know. I 
wasn't finding fault — and after all, you have sup- 
plied me the text of next Sunday's sermon. "The 
House Built Upon the Sands." (In ministerial man- 
ner.) No matter how fair a mansion love may build, 
if it rests upon a foundation of deceit, it must fall 
to pieces like a house built upon the sands. 

Avis. But I didn't mean a foundation of deceit, 
you know — just a few shingles. 

Clyde. (Laughs) Hereafter I censor that library 
fiction you bring home. That settles it! (Goes to 
study. Avis stands in thought fid silence for a mo- 
ment, gives a little sigh of resignation, and puts on 
her hat and coat.) 

Amanda. (Comes in and starts to remove white 
table-cloth, replacing it with colored spread) H'm ! 
Spot on the table-cloth! Soon as I put on a clean 

one, somebody spills a spot Deacon Pettibone's 

standin' down on the corner talkin' to Mis' Ander- 
son. I s'pose he's headin' for here. 

Avis. Well, please remember Clyde said he didn't 
wish to be disturbed. (Bell rings.) 

Amanda. (Resentfully) There goes the bell! 

Avis. I'm going out this way to market. I don't 
feel like seeing the Deacon just now. (Exits hast- 
ily, R.) 

Amanda. (Talking after her retreating form) 



COSY CORNERS 55 

I'm just a rack of bones from tendin' to ev'rythin' — 
an' seein' as I only work out for an accommodation 
— (Admits Deacon at c.) Good mornin'. Deacon. 
Did you want to see Mr. Hollister or Mis' Hollister, 
because you can't see neither one? 

Deacon. Parson ain't home? 

Amanda. In his study. Whether the ceilin' is 
goin' to fall down on him or not, he goes right on 
gettin' his sermons ready. Mis' Hollister is gone to 
market. Do you want to look at the livin' room 
ceilin' ? 

Deacon. Mebbe I'll look at it, an' mebbe I won't. 
Like as not all of it's fell down that's a-goin' to. No 
use spendin' the church's money on vanities. 

Amanda. I've got to get back to my work. Are 
you cal-latin' to set here all alone? 

Deacon. You ain't objectin' to my restin' myself 
a minute, be you ? 

Amanda. No, 'tain't nothin' to me one way or 
t'other. There's Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress" if 
you want to look at it. 

Deacon. Pack of lies ! 

Amanda. (Picks tip another book) Mebbe you'd 
like "Rules for Daily Conduct." 

Deacon. I make my own rules. 

Amanda. Well, then, there's the Bible. You 
ain't objectin' to the Bible, be you? 

Deacon. When it's fine print enough to put your 
eyes out — yes, I be. (Bell rings.) 

Amanda. That bell's been ringin' this whole 
blessed afternoon, an' bein' as I only work out for 
an accommodation (Opens door c.) 

Morris. (In doorway) Is Mrs. Hollister in? 

Amanda. (Snappishly) No, nor her husban' 
either. Be you a book agent? 

Morris. (Steps inside) I'm not, fair maiden, 
do I look like one? 



56 COSY CORNERS 

Amanda. Yes, you do, consid'rble. I don't want 
to get my life insured, if that's it. 

Morris. I don't blame you. You're likely to live 
another sixty years without it. 

Amanda. What? 

Morris. Well, if there isn't my old friend, Dea- 
con Pettibone ! I'll have speech with you in a min- 
ute or two if I may, Deacon, in Mrs. HoUisters 
absence. 

Amanda. You can't sell him anything either. 

Morris. What a reader of character you are ! 

Deacon. So it's you, Granby. Bad pennies al- 
ways turn up. Where'd you come from ? 

Morris. Drove over from Springfield where one 
of my attractions is playing. Talk about dusty 

roads (As Amanda starts for ktichen.) Wait 

a moment, charming Isabella. Do you happen to 
have such a thing in the country as a whisk broom ? 

Amanda. No, Mr. Waggletongue. We brush 
our clothes with a curry-comb. (Points at floor.) 
Just look at all that dirt you've dragged in. I don't 
know which is the most pestiferous around a house 
— men or red ants ! (Exits r.) 

Deacon. Didn't s'pose you'd ever turn up here 
again, seein' the Parson married your fiddlin' girl. 

Morris. This was intended simply as a friendly 
call on the turtle doves. You're doing all you can 
to make Cosy Corners a bed of roses for them, I 
suppose ? 

Deacon. No. I ain't. I'm doin' all I can to show 
Hollister he ain't the man for the place, because I 
consider it my religious duty. 

Morris. My dear old shining-light, duty always 
came first with you ! But Mrs. Hollister — she seems 
happy, doesn't she? 

Deacon. She went to New York last week pur- 
pose to bring back everythin' she didn't fetch along 



COSY CORNERS 57 

when she was married. I s'pose she's happy as long 
as HolHster holds his job. 

Morris. So she kept it under her bonnet — what 
she really went for, and said it was to get her trunks ? 

Deacon. Eh? What you talkin' about, Granby? 

Morris. (Half to himself) After all, her 
methods don't surprise me. Avis is too tender- 
hearted to make the break and leave Hollister all at 
once. But she can't put it of¥ very long. 

Deacon. I'm glad I ran into you, Granby. You 
say Mis' Hollister intends to leave the parson ? No, 
no, you're wrong. She's all wrapped up in him. 

Morris. Green fields and running brooks and 
gently ambling country sermons — they might hold 
some women, but not one with red blood — the genius 
— the temperament of Avis Merrill. I gave her just 
about three months in which to kick over the traces, 
and, by Jove, my hunch was all to the good. Wel- 
come back to the fold, Claudia! (Clyde opens 
study door, silently, and stands listening, unseen,) 
I knew it meant chucking Hollister and returning to 
the concert stage — that it was only a question of a 
few weeks, perhaps days — as soon as I heard she 
had played that concert while in New York ! 

Clyde. (Advancing into room) Mr. Granby 

fMoRRis turns with surprised exclamation.) I beg 
your pardon — but were you speaking of my wife's 
having played a concert in New York? 

Morris. Why, my dear Hollister — I'm sorry if 
I've let the cat out of the bag. T didn't know you 
were around. The Deacon is to blame — he got me 
talking. But perhaps Avis is breaking into the game 
again ndth your permission? 

Deacon. Always thought a fiddlin' girl wa'nt 
suited to marryin' a parson. 

Morris. Frankly, T came over from Springfield 
in the hope of persuading the little woman to go out 



58 COSY CORNERS 

again under my management. I'll tell you what, 
Hollister, if you've taken a sensible view of the thing, 
and resigned to it — and are tired of the proposition 
here in Cosy Corners the same as she is — why, I 
might make a place for you in her company. Ad- 
vertising agent — the box office 

Deacon. Twouldn't be a bad idea, Hollister. Not 
a bad idea at all. Because folks fail at preachin' the 
gospel ain't no sign they're goin' to fail at everythin' 
else. 

Clyde. I thank you both for kindly offering to 
run my affairs for me, but I really prefer to run 
them without your assistance. As to my wife's 
having played in public while she was in New York, 
you are misinformed. She did not even have her 
violin along with her, and Vm sure, Mr. Granby, you 
have nothing to say that would interest her any more 
than it has interested me. I think I shall finish writ- 
ing my sermon out here, gentlemen, if I'll not be 
disturbing you in any way. 

Morris. You're deuced polite with your impo- 
liteness, Hollister. 

Deacon. Kickin' us out, be you — an' me a Dea- 
con in the church! 

Morris. I'll postpone my little talk with Avis 
until some other time. 

Clyde. That is extremely advisable. Good after- 
noon. 

Morris. Good afternoon. (Takes newspaper 
from pocket.) By the way, you might like to look 
over the New York paper — the one describing the 
concert where Mrs. Hollister played. No? Then 
I'll leave it right here on the table. Perhaps Avis 
would like to look at it herself. Good day. 

(^Deacon and Morris exit c. Clyde takes up paper, 
but hesitates about looking at it. Phone rings.) 



COSY CORNERS 59 

Clyde. (At phone) Hello. Yes, Mr. HoUister 
speaking. Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Carey? I'm 
sorry to hear that — Indeed I will. I'll be there 
inside of an hour — the next car over from here. 
Keep up hope if you can. He may pull through yet. 
Dark hours come to us all — and we must face them 
as bravely as we can. (Goes into study, taking paper 
with him,) 

Amanda. (Enters, kitchen door, followed by 
Edna Pettibone and little Marietta^ Well, Edna, 
I s'pose it's all right you an' Mis' Hollister bein' 
such friends, but seems like you'd oughtn't to come 
here so much when your father don't approve of it. 
I believe in children honorin' their parents no matter 
if 'tain't easy to do it. 

Marietta. (Prancing from kitchen door up to 
Edna and Amanda j Oh, are you childrens, Edna? 
I thought you was grown up. 

Amanda. Where'd you come from ? I didn't see 
you taggin' in after us. 

Marietta. (Close at Edna's side, eyes Amanda 
accusingly) People oughtn't to speak cross to or- 
phans, ought they, Edna? 

Amanda. Don't you make up one of them orphan 
faces at me the way you do to Cynthia Bartlett, 
comin' in without knockin' an' askin' whether you're 
wanted or whether you ain't ! 

Edna. Marietta bounced out of Mrs. Bartlett's 
yard as I was passing. We shan't stay long, either 
of us. 

Marietta. I bounced out because I wanted to 
see where you was goin'. 

Amanda, Well, you saw, didn't you? Now 
you'd better bounce home again. 

Marietta. Don't want to, 'cause I want to see 
where she's goin' next. What you been cryin' about, 
Edna? 



6o COSY CORNERS 

Amanda. Little girls shouldn't show so much 
curiosity. (To Edna, zvith great interest.) What 
have you been cryin' about, Edna? 

Edna. Mrs. Hollister will be here soon, Amandy ? 

Amanda. She'd ought to be. She only went to 
market. 

Edna. (Exhibits bundle she is carrying) I 
brought over something for the rummage sale — a 
dress I've outgrown. 

Marietta. Edna, are you an' old Mr. Umpstead 
goin' to be married? 

Edna. (Shuddering) Oh. Marietta! 

Amanda. Land sakes, child, stop askin' ques- 
tions You can answer her before me just as 

full as you're a mind to. 

Marietta. Edna, are you goin' to marry old Mr. 
Umpstead ? 

Edna. I'd rather die ! 

Marietta. Oh, just wait till I tell that to Libbie 
an' Jane ! 

Amanda. What have they got to do with it, the 
little snips? 

Marietta. I heard Libbie sayin' to Jane that 
Edna was goin' to marry Mr. Umpstead, an' Jane 
sayin' to Libbie, wasn't it awful Edna's father pickin' 
out Edna's beaux, an' Sophie Anderson said Edna 
wouldn't never marry anybody but Charlie Bradbury 
— an' then they chased me away. 

Edna. It's common gossip everywhere, and I 
hate it ! 

Marietta. Wish somebody would give me a 
cookie to eat. 

Amanda. There ain't nobody goin' to, so you'd 
better run along now, an' let Mis' Bartlett know you 
ain't been kipnapped or anythin'. 

Marietta. But nobody kidnaps orphans, 'cause 
who would pay the reward ? 



COSY CORNERS 6i 

xA.MANDA. Well, Lord knows / wouldn't, if 'twas 
sotne orphans I could mention ! 

Marietta. Wish somebody zvould give me a 
cookie to eat — Oh, 'Mandy. you snapped your jaws 
then just like our Fido does bitin' fleas! What 
made you? 

Amanda. I'm goin' to get back to my mince- 
meat. I never felt so much like choppin' somethin' 
in my life! (Exits R. into kitchen.) 

Avis. (Enters door c.) Well, Edna dear ! 

Marietta. Oh, there's Mrs. Hollister now. I'm 
goin' out an' v/atch 'Mandy chop. (IVinningly, as 
she exits r.) Wish somebody would give me a 
cookie 

Avis. I'm glad to see you, Edna. 

Edna. I got the souvenir postal from New York. 
It v/as nice to think you remembered me. 

Avis. How has everything been going? 

Edna. I made an excuse to bring this over to 
the sale so I could tell you. Father tore up a letter 
that came from Charlie Bradbury yesterday before 
I'd a chance to open it. I'd promised to write when 
I got his address, and now I don't even know where 
it is ! 

Avis. Charlie will write again. That's the kind 
of live boy he is. Just you wait ! 

Edna. And maybe father will get hold of the 
letter again. He's doing everything in his power to 
break me up with Charlie and force me to marry 
Mr. Umpstead, and I'm just scared to death! 

Avis. But he can't make you marry anyone 
against your will. 

Edna. Sometimes I'm afraid he can. Father has 
always bossed me around — and — and — oh, some- 
times I don't think anybody can be in his right mind 
that is as cruel as he is. He — Oh. Mrs. Hoilister, he 
never did such a thing when I was little — but in the 



62 COSY CORNERS 

past six months, he's struck me twice — with the 
buggy whip! 

Avis. Edna — you poor child! Why, that's out- 
rageous! You mustn't submit to such a thing! 

Edna. I don't think he realizes how terrible it is 
— the pain. At the thought of it, I — I just haven't 
the strength to stand up for myself ! Mrs. Hollister, 
what I wanted to ask you was this — Rather than 
marry an old man I hate, wouldn't it be better for 
me to run away from home and take a good position 
I've been offered? 

Avis. A good, safe position with people you 
know, Edna? 

Edna. Well, it's different from anything any- 
body would ever expect I knew how to do — but, oh, 
I can't tell even you just what it is, for fear of its 
getting back to father ! 

Avis. But Edna dear, I can't advise you until I 
know what you have in mind. 

Edna. Well, I — I — you see, I promised not to 
breathe it to a soul. 

Avis. But, whoever asked you to make such a 
promise ? 

Clyde. (Enters from study) Am I interrupting 
a private conversation? 

Edna. (Nervously) Oh, not at all, Mr. Hollis- 
ter. I just brought something for the sale. I'll see 
you again, Mrs. Hollister. Soon. Good-bye. (Exits 
c.) 

Avis. (Thoughtfully) I'm very sorry for Edna 
Pettibone. She's so unhappy in her home ! 

Clyde. (With a bitterness not entirely concealed) 
Surely you are not so happy in your own home, Avis, 
that you can afiford to waste your pity on other peo- 
ple? 

Avis. Yes, I am — happy as possible — almost. 
That is, I would be if it weren't for the disagreeable 



COSY CORNERS 63 

things that worry me because they worry you — like 
the builders stopping work on the church, and all 
that. (Goes jand sits on arm of his chair.) Qyde, 
you can't imagine how homesick I was to see you 
while I was trotting around in great big indifferent 
old New York ! Even a beautiful bargain hat I 
bought didn't console me, except for a quarter of a 
second. 

Clyde. (Accepts her caress without returning it) 
Homesick to see me? That has a pleasant sound. 
By the way, you didn't take your violin with you, 
did you? 

Avis. Yes, I did. I've carried it with me on 
journeys for so many years — I thought it might be 
sort of company for me this time, though I suppose 
that sounds silly to you. (^Clyde rises, gets his hat 
and puts it on.) Are you going somewhere, dear? 

Clyde. (Looking at watch) Yes. It's almost 
time for that hourly car to Southfield. Mrs. Carey 
phoned me the doctors have said Mr. Carey could 
not last through the night. 

Avis. Poor Mrs. Carey! He's been ill a long 
time, but I don't suppose that makes it any easier for 
her to give him up ! 

Clyde. It is a sad thing when a break of any 
kind comes, to separate two people who have loved 
each other. 

Avis. Mrs. Bartlett said the Careys had been so 
happy together all their married life ! 

Clyde. Perhaps because the chords of their faith 
were never strained. 

Avis. And perhaps because the big world outside 
had nothing so precious to offer either of them as 
their love for each other. 

Clyde. That reminds me — I haven't yet asked 
you how it seemed to be playing your violin in public 
again ? 



64 COSY CORNERS 

Avis. When ? 

Clyde. This past week, of course, while you were 
away. 

Avis. But, dearie boy, I didn't play in public, 
nor even take my violin from its case, as it happened. 

Clyde. (Unbelievingly) What admirable self- 
control ! 

Avis. Clyde ! Why, how odd that sounded ! Al- 
most as if you meant to be sarcastic ! And I don't 
know in the least what you mean by "admirable self- 
control." 

Clyde. Why, your having the will-power to keep 
from putting yourself to the test of a public appear- 
ance, of course. You see. it might have proved to 
you that the glamour of the old life had got the 
better of your love for home and me. We should 
be entirely willing to abide by the result of such an 
experiment — both of us. 

Avis. But, Clyde, my music has nothing to do 
with my love for you. And, after all, I'm a free 
woman. You mustn't put fetters on my soul. I had 
a perfect right to take my violin to New York, yes, 
and even to play if I had chosen to do so. It 
wouldn't have been any sin against our love — or 
you. 

Clyde. (With meaning) Even if you had played 
in public? 

Avis. Even if I had played in public — yes. 

Clyde. (Slowly) You have nothing more to say 
to me — to tell me — before I go? 

Avis. Only to give Mrs. Carey my sincere love 
and sympathy. 

Clyde. (Cries out in agony) Avis ! Avis ! 

Avis. Clyde, why do you look at me like that? 
You — ^you frighten me ! Why did you cry out as if 
I — I had made you unhappy ? 

Clyde. A house built upon the sands. To think 



COSY CORNERS 65 

that house should be yours and mine ! (Goes hastily 
out door c.) 

Avis. Clyde! (Starts to open door, then turns 
back. Exclaims pitcously.) What have I done? 
(Sinks down, half dazed, speaking almost in a whis- 
per.) Dear Lord, what have I done? 

CURTAIN 



ACT III 

Time: A feiv hours later. Evening. 

Scene: Living-roo'ui of parsonage as before. The 
sofa is filled zvitJi bundles for the rummage sale. 

Discovered: Sophie and Bob standing by table. 
Sophie is holding up a framed announcement 
of rummage sale, while Bob attaches a cord at 
back. 

Bob. I painted that sign myself in bright red. 
When it's put up on the parsonage gate, nobody can 
help seeing it. 

Sophie. I hope folks won't think it's a scarlet 
fever sign and be scared to come in. (Giggles.) 

Bob. Gee, that's a nice thing to say when I spent 
two hours painting it. 

Sophie. I didn't mean it wasn't real artistic, Bob. 
It is. (Giggles.) 

Bob. Is it, Sophie? 

Sophie. Umhmph. (Giggles.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Enters from study) I hope 
there'll be a big crowd on Saturday afternoon. Mr. 
HoUister's study is so light and large — just the place 
for a rummage-sale. Well, are you goin' to spend 
another hour fixin' up that gate-sign? ('Bob and 
Sophie sigh.) 'Twon't do you any good to look 
sheepish. You're both too young to be thinkin' 
about courtin' an' I won't put up with it. 

66 



COSY CORNERS 67 

Sophie. (Walking away from BoBJ Who's 
thinking about courting, I'd like to know ? I'm not. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Bob is. (^Sophie, pleased, gig- 
gles self-consciously.) Not because it's you, though, 
Sophie Anderson. He's been tryin' to make love to 
some girl or other ever since he wore dresses. (En- 
ter Libbie and Jane from study.) 

Bob. (Protestingly) Now, Maw! 

Libbie. (Comes to r. of Mrs. Bartlett) I've 
arranged all the books and china on that shelf, Mrs. 
Bartlett, the way you told me to. 

Jane. (Comes to l. of Mrs. Bartlett) I've 
separated the children's clothes from the grown-ups. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Good ! I don't suppose you'll 
be needed again until the sale Saturday, either of 
you. Then I'll put you in charge of the smaller- 
articles table. 

Libbie. Which one of us in charge, Mrs. Bartlett, 
please ? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Both of you, of course, you 
Siamese twins. 

Jane. We are no longer twins, Mrs. Bartlett. 

Libbie. No, indeed, Mrs. Bartlett. 

Mrs. Bartlett. What's the matter with you two 
anyhow ? 

Libbie. We are mad and never going to speak to 
each other again. 

Jane. At least, if we ever do, Libbie has got to 
speak first. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Now, now, children, don't be 
foolish. One of you has got to speak first — the one 
whose fault it was to begin with. 

Jane. It was Libbie's fault in the first place. 

Libbie. No, Mrs. Bartlett, it was distinctly Jane's. 
She told me yesterday that she'd wait at the drug- 
store for me to go to school with her, and when I 
got there she'd gone on ahead without me. 



68 COSY CORNERS 

Jane. Mrs. Bartlett, I had merely gone to do an 
errand for my Aunt Clarissa, and when I came back 
to the drug store, Jane had been there and left with- 
out leaving any message for mc whatever. 

LiBBiE. But. Mrs. Bartlett, I never dreamed of 
Jane's coming back ! 

Mrs. Bartlett. There now. it's all explained and 
the sky is clear again. 

Jane. But Libbie's got to speak first. 

LiBBiE. No, Mrs. Bartlett, Jane should speak 
first. 

Bob. Say, why don't you both speak first and 
have it over with? Sophie, you count "one, two. 
three — speak !" 

Sophie. All right. One — two — three — speak! 
("Libbie and Jane open mouths elaborately, but do 
not speak.) 

Bob. Struck dumb? How sad, and both so 
young! f Sophie giggles.) 

Libbie. I knew fane wouldn't and that's why I 
didn't. ^ 

Jane. 1 knew Libbie wouldn't, and that's why I 
didn't. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Why can't you make it up with- 
out speaking at all? just rush into each other's 
arms. 

Libbie. (To Mrs. Bartlett) Yes, why can't 
we? 

Jane. (To everyone in general) That does seem 
easier. 

Bob. Sophie, count for the rush. (He gets be- 
hind Jane.j 

Sophie. (Gets belli nd Libbie) One — two — 
three — rush! (The girls stand still, but suddenly 
Bob and Sophie aet in unison, shoving tJiem for- 
ward until they land in each others' arms. Simul- 



COSY CORNERS 69 

taneously the girls cry out each others' names and 
embrace.) . 

LiBBiE. Oh, we'll never, never get angry with 
each other again, will we? 

Jane. I should say not! Life without you, Lib- 
bie, is just a barren waste. 

LiBBiE. It's nothing more than a monogamous 
prairie. 

Mrs. Bartlett. What kind of a prairie? 

LiBBiE. Monogamous. That means one day is 
just as dreary as the next. 

Mrs. Bartlett. I guess "monotonous" is the 
word you was feelin' for, Libbie. 

Jane. Well, anyhow, she meant it's something 
nobody would want to be. Oh, Libbie, I'm so happy ! 

Libbie. Oh, Jane, so am I ! (They exit at c, 
chattering of how they came to misunderstand each 
other. ''You know, I thought you said you'd he 
there zvhen I got there," etc.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. This happens every other day, 
regular. I'm going to see how they've arranged that 
big table. (Exits into study.) 

Bob. Sophie, let me hold your hand. 

Soppiie. What for, I'd like to know? 

Bob. Because I'm built that way. 

Sophie. When your mother isn't around. 

Bob. Sophie, you're awful cold to me. 

Sophie. Indeed? 

Bob. Cold as liquid air. I'm so froze if you beat 
me against the wall, I'd bust into a million pieces. 

Sophie. I'm going up to Boston to spend the rest 
of the winter with Aunt Hattie. 

Bob. Talking to me ? 

Sophie. No, talking to myself. There's a boarder 
over to Aunt Hattie's I'll fall in love with, the min- 
ute I see him — I know I shall. 

Bob. Well, he'd better not show up around here. 



70 COSY CORNERS 

SoppiiE. He's six feet an inch and a half in 
height. I do love men when they're extra tall ! 

Bob. Then I suppose you'd like a fellow better if 
he went around on stilts. 

Sophie. His neckties are so quiet and gentle- 
manly. 

Bob. (Feeling his bright tie consciously) But 
sporty ones are the style. 

Sophie. And he has the dearest gentlemanly feet ! 

Bob. (Trying to hide his feet) Oh, darn it all, 
what has a fellow's feet got to do with love? Gee! 
Thought I heard m.a coming. 

Sophie. More than that, he's so manly and inde- 
pendent, his own mother doesn't dare interfere with 
him. She is actually afraid to say a word, when he 
is talking to a girl. 

Bob. (Not seeing his mother, zvho has just ap- 
peared in study door) So's my mother actually 
afraid to say a word when I'm talking to a girl ! 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Entering) vShe is, is she? 
Young man, you march out there an' put up that 
sign this minute, an' then go home. Stop gapin' at 
Sophie Anderson, an' march ! 

Bob. (Takes up sign and exits with it, door c.) 
Well, I'm marchin', ain't I? 

Mrs. Bartlett. The idea of two infants that 
have barely got through cuttin' their teeth, talkin' 
about rebellin' against parental authority. Well, let's 
put the rest of the bundles in this basket an' carry 
'em into the study. I thought you came here to 
help. 

Sophie. (Assists packing bundles) I did, Mrs. 
Bartlett. (Giggles.) I can carry this all by myself 
if you want me to. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, I don't. I wonder what's 
keepin' Mrs. HolHster. 

Sophie. She said she might call around before 



COSY CORNERS 71 

she came home and tell the parents of the infant 
class it wasn't safe for them to come to Sunday- 
School until the ceiling is fixed. (They exit into 
study, after loading basket with remaining bundles.) 

(Door c. opens, and Amanda zvalks in, in street 
attire, followed by Deacon PettiboneJ 

Amanda. If you've got anything to say to me, 
you can say it in here. I've just been in that warm 
library room drawin' out a book, an' I'm not goin' 
to ketch my death of cold in the night air talkin' to 
a man, Deacon or no Deacon. 

Deacon. That's all right, Amandy. I'd just as 
soon talk here as anywhere. (Goes to door up r. 
and looks off.) Don't believe there's any danger of 
that ceilin' fallin' down-^any more of it. Let the 
scholars set their benches to the other side of the 
room. Mis' Hollister's always a-findin' fault about 
somethin'. 

Amanda. But I put up with it, seein' as I only 
work out for an accommodation. 

Deacon. They're both away from home, you 
said? 

Amanda. They was when I left to go to the 
library, but Mis' Hollister might be upstairs now for 
all I know. Want me to call her? 

Deacon. No. Did you hear any words between 
the parson an' her before he started over to South- 
port? 

Amanda. How did you know he started ? 

Deacon. Saw him gettin' on the car. 

Amanda. Why didn't you run an' ketch up with 
it, an' ask him for yourself if there was any words. 
I always try to tend my own business, even U 1 do 
only work out for an accommodation. 

Deacon. (Hypocritically) That's right, Amandy. 



^2 COSY CORNERS 

I was hopin' you did. Good girls are scarce in Cosy 
Corners If somethin' better offered — like keep- 
in' house for a widower after his daughter was 
married an' gone away — you'd be glad enough to 
leave here, wouldn't 3^ou? 

Amanda. Depends on how much more wages 
they'd offer me. 

Deacon. 'Tain't exactly a question of wages, 
'Mandy. 

Amanda. 'Tis with me. 

Deacon. Well, s'posin' — I'm only sayin' "s'pos- 
in' " — but s'posin somebody was to offer to marry 
you instead of pay in' wages 

Amanda. I'd like to see anybody try it. 

Deacon. What? Ain't you 'shamed of bein' an 
old maid ? 

Amanda. Who's an old maid? I'm a good-dis- 
positioned Methodist, unmarried, single female wo- 
man, an' I'm goin' to stay one. 

Deacon. Well, if that's the way you feel about 
it, no use talkin' about oft'erin' you the chance to 
better yourself. 

Amanda. Where are you goin'? 

Deacon. Goin' home. 

Amanda. (Grabs him by the coat fcul) Stop 
right where you are. You say you was goin' to, an' 
say it quick, or you don't get out of that door to- 
night ! 

Deacon. Thought you'd change your mind when 
you saw your chance a-goin'. Set right down here 
beside me, 'Mandy. (^Sophie peers from study, 
giggles and drazus back.) What's that? 

Amanda. It sounded like a cat or somethin' like 
it. Well, I'm a-settin'. (Shooing the cat.) Shoo! 

Deacon. Scatt ! — You can sit jest as close as 
you're a mind to. (He sits a bit closer to her, both 
very stiff and self-conscious.) 



COSY CORNERS 73 

Amanda. It's all right so long as we don't touch. 

Deacon. It*s a considerable come-down for me, 
'Mandy, makin' up to a girl that works out an' be- 
longs to a strange congregation, but my daughter is 
liable to enter the bonds of matrimony any day now, 
an' leave home to serve her lord an' master, as it's 
proper all females should — an' marryin' you would 
be cheaper than payin* wages. It may spite the Hol- 
listers considerable, your leavin' 'em in the midst of 
so many tribulations as the Lord seems to be sendin' 
on 'em, but once havin' made up my mind, there 
shan't anythin' stop me from enterin' the marriage 
state with you. Will you name the weddin' day ? 

Amanda. No, I won't ! If you think I'm goin' to 
trade off a place where I run the roost an' git good 
wages for it, for one where I'd have to work myself 
to skin an' bone for my board, an' mighty poor 
board at that — an' be obliged to set across the table 
from an old weasel-eyed, lantern- jawed has-been 
like you — jest to keep from bein' called an old maid 
— you're considerable mistaken ! 

Deacon. (Rising, furiously) Then what did you 
lead me on to propose for, you ugly-faced vinegar- 
tongued fem.ale, if you wa'nt goin' to take me? 

Amanda. 'Cause you've twitted me more than 
once about my unwedded state, an' I wanted every- 
body to know I had an offer from skinflint Deacon 
Pettibone, an' refused him ! 

Deacon. You can't prove you had an offer from 
me. Nobody heard me make it. 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Walking with Sophie outside 
study door, laughing) Yes, they did. Cousin Jona- 
than. 

Deacon. So you've been listenin' — both of you? 
Well, 'twon't do no good to tell what you've heard, 
for there ain't goin' to be anybody that'll believe but 
what I was jokin'. 



74 COSY CORNERS 

Mrs. Bartlett. They'll have a chance to, Jona- 
than. I ain't got no special love for 'Mandy, but I'll 
testify she's had a genuine proposal, an' the day of 
miracles ain't past! (As Deacon zvith angry ex- 
clamation starts for door to living-room.) Don't go 
that v/ay. The plasterln* is loose, an 

Deacon. It ain't, neither. You 'tend to your 
own business — all of you — an' I'll tend to mine. 

Amanda. I can hardly wait till mornin' to start 
round the neighborhood tellin' 'bout my proposal. 
("Deacon, with smothered exdamation of rage, exits 
R. into living-room.) I guess I'll have time to finish 
my mince-meat an' take in a couple of families to- 
night. 

("Avis enters door l. She has on long coat, com- 
pletely covering her dress.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Why, Avis, I didn't know you'd 
got home ! Strange things have happened since you 
went out for your walk. 

Avis. (Anxiously) Clyde hasn't telephoned over 
from Southport, has he ? 

Mrs. Bartlett. No. it's nothin' like that. 
Am.andy (Terrific crash is heard.) 

Sophie. What's that? 

Avis. The plastering! 

Mrs. Bartlett. The Deacon ! 

Amanda. Land sakes, am I a widow 'fore I've 
told anybody? 

Deacon. (Entering form r., covered zmth plas- 
ter.) Consarn it — I'm chokin'. Why didn't some- 
body warn me 'twasn't safe to open that outside 
door? My suit is ruined! 

Avis. I'm sorry, Deacon Pettibone, but I can't 
help feeling glad it wasn't my little infant class the 
plastering fell on. 

Mrs. Bartlett. You said you had to be con- 



COSY CORNERS 75 

vinced repairs were needed. Jonathan. I reckon 
you're convinced. 

Deacon. Holliter's been crackin' that ceiHn' with 
a hammer jest so this would happen. I've got a few 
things to say to the church board this next meetin', 
an' I'm a-goin to say 'em! (Exits c.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, of all the sputterin' I ever 
heard ! He was so mad he didn't know what he was 
sayin'. Avis. Don't pay any attention to him. (Lozv 
whistle sounds outside.) 

Sophie. I must be going, Mrs. Hollister. Ma 
doesn't like for me to be out too late alone. 

Mrs. Bartlett. That wa'nt Bob Bartlett I heard 
whistlin', was it? 

Sophie. Mrs. Bartlett. I'm not going because 
your son whistled, even if I did recognize the sound. 
(Giggles.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, if I didn't want to have 
a few minutes' talk with Mrs. Hollister, I'd soon 
attend to him for hangin' around when I told him 
to go on home! 

Sophie. Good-night. 

Avis. Good-night, Sophie. Sorry you have to 
go. (Exit Sophie, c.) 

Amanda. (Enters at r.) Don't see why I can't 
finish choppin' m.y mince-meat in here, seein' as I 
only work out for an accommodation. (Seats her- 
self at r. zvith chopping bozvl.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. (To Avis) Is your head any 
better, dear, than before you took your walk? 

Avis. Much better. So much so that when I came 
home I remembered something 3^ou asked of me, 
and did it to please you. (Slips off her coat, show- 
ing elaborate evening dress.) Just as I looked when 
I played at your cousin's tea, in Boston. 

Mrs. Bartlett. I can't think of anythin' but a 
beautiful picture, walkin' right out of its frame. 



y6 COSY CORNERS 

Amanda. Vanity of vanities ; all is vanity, as the 
Bible says. 

Mrs. Bartlett. But sometimes I think there's as 
much uplift in beauty as there is in sermons. 

Amanda. (Looking at gown) Is that skirt real 
or imitation ? (Feels of skirt.) Real ! (Disapprov- 
ingly.) Such extravagance ! When you goin' to put 
on the waist? 

Avis. Why, it's on already, Amanda. This is all 
there is. 

Amanda. Wear any furs or anythin' with it ? 

Avis. No, why should I ? 

Amanda. If anyone saw me in a thing like that 
flauntin' immorality an' pneumonia at one an' the 
same time — I'd drop dead in my tracks — I know I 
would. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Maybe it would be the person 
that saw you wearin' it that would drop dead, 
Amandy. 

Amanda. It's the most scandalous dress I ever 
laid eyes on. I don't believe in lookin* at it. How 
is it cut in the back ? (Avis turns around for her to 
see. Loud knocking is heard off R.j There, I jest 
knew it. I never can set a minute that somebody 
don't start knockin' at that kitchen door, but they 
ain't goin' to set down an' stop me from goin' out 
to make some calls ! (Exits R.J 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, we've got a real nice lot of 
things arranged for that rummage sale on Saturday, 
an' that will mean that the ceilin' in there gets re- 
placed if nothin' else. 

Avis. And after all, we can only take a step at a 
time through this puzzling world. (Sighs heavily.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. There' there, now, you mustn't 
take what Clyde said too much to heart. He'll be all 
right again when he gets back from Southport. I 



COSY CORNERS 77 

suppose it was just takin' your violin to New York 
with you that made him think you'd got tired of your 
home and 3'^our Hfe here. 

Avis. But, of course, after what he said, my 
httle dream of earning money to help rebuild the 
church has all gone up in smoke. 

Mrs. Bartlett. I suppose so. It seems to me 
sometimes that men grow queerer every day, an' 
that the more you give in to their notions, the more 
unreasonable they get. Not that I'm advisin' you to 
do any different. Of course that's between you an' 
Clyde. 

Avis. If the money isn't raised through my play- 
ing, though, we mustn't lose faith but that somebody 
or something else will supply it. Clyde's work here 
must go on. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Of course it must, and it will. 
Well, good-night, dear. I'll see you again soon. 

Avis. Do, Mrs. Bartlett. Good-night. (Sees her 
to door c. Sits at desk and begins to write a letter.) 

(Door c. opens silently and Edna steals in. She 
carries a satchel.) 

Edna. (In a whisper) Mrs. Hollister ! 

Avis. (Springing up) Edna, how you frightened 
me! 

Edna. (Cautiously) 1 didn't ring because I 
didn't want Amandy or anyone else to know I had 
come. 

Avis. Sit down, dear. I'm all alone, as it hap- 
pens. 

Edna. (Taking chair facing Avis^ No one 
knows I've left the house. I climbed from my bed- 
room down the back porch trellis, and got to the 
street without being seen. 



7S COSY CORNERS 

Avis. Why, Edna, what made you do that? What 
has happened? 

Edna. Just what I've been afraid of. To-night 
when I was getting supper, Mr. Umpstead followed 
me out into the kitchen and asked me to marry him. 
He said he and father were both anxious for the 
match, and he hoped I'd be sensible about it. I 
couldn't speak for a minute. The very thought of it 
made me sick all over. Then he put his frowsy 
head down and tried to kiss me, and I pushed him 
away and ran upstairs. 

Avis. That ought to settle the question, I should 
think. 

Edna. Yes, you would think so, but I'm sure it 
didn't. I heard him laughing to himself as if he 
thought it all a joke. Mrs. Hollister — I just realized 
all of a sudden that I couldn't argue it out with 
father and face one of his rages — that I couldn't 
stand it at home any longer. I'm going to New 
York on the ten-thirty to-night. I've got the address 
of a boarding-house and directions for getting there, 
and I'm not afraid. There's my satchel, all packed. 

Avis. If the worst comes to the worst, that 
might be the thing for you to do, but I think you're 
acting hastily now. Wouldn't it be wiser and braver 
for you just to go quietly back to your home and 
take your stand once for all against being treated 
like a child? 

Edna. But you don't know father, and what a 
terrible temper he has ! 

Avis. Yes, I do, Edna, but I also know you were 
eighteen years old last week and that it might be 
different with your father if he could once be 
brought to realize that you're now your own rnistress, 
and can never, never be forced to marry a man you 
don't love. 



COSY CORNERS 79 

Edna. I .suppose you think Eve acted like a 
coward ! 

Avis. 'No, I don't, but I want you to show me 
how very brave you can be. 

Edna. Oh, Mrs. HoUister, if I only could bring 
myself to face father out once — and not give in 
when I know he's wrong and Em right — if I could 
get over the fear of his striking me — Well, Ell try, 
even if I fail. 

Avis. That's the girl. 

Edna. If you let me stay here until late, and 
everyone's asleep, I can climb back up the trellis the 
way I came, and no one will know Eve been away. 
(Bell rings.) Mercy, I don't want to meet any- 
loody ! Where'll I go? (Avis opens study door.) 

Avis. Right in there, dear. It's probably some- 
one bringing more things for the sale. Ell call you 
when the coast is clear. 

("Edna exits into study. Avis goes to l. and calls 
Amanda. Finding kitchen empty she opens 
door c. herself. Morris Granby steps inside.) 

Morris. Good-evening, Claudia! I feared I 
mightn't find you at home. 

Avis. Well, well, Morris Granby! What a sur- 
prise! Whatever brought you to this part of the 
country again? 

Morris. (Accepting chair she motions him to 
occupy) Chance, partly. Miss Givens, my new 
soprano, sang at the Springfield Music Festival last 
night, and I said to myself this morning: "Ell just 
take in Cosy Corners on my way home and see how 
the little girl is hitting it off as a minister's wife." 

Avis. Clyde isn't at home just now, but Em ex- 
pecting him any moment. 

Morris. Well, I hope he doesn't break his neck 



8o COSY CORNERS 

to get here. I shouldn't mind at all having a little 
chat with you alone. 

Avis. It certainly seems strange to see you again. 

Morris. You're looking fine. But that gown ! 
You weren't intending to play anywhere this even- 
ing, were you? 

Avis. Mercy, no ! I'm wearing it purely by acci- 
dent. I've been showing it to one of my Cosy Cor- 
ners friends. I feel rather silly in it sitting here in 
the parsonage, to tell the truth. Why, I haven't 
worn a concert gown before since — let me see — the 
night of Mrs. De Puyster Sands' musicale. 

Morris. I remember — where the Russian pianist 
got so jealous of the hit you were making he strewed 
the rug with souvenirs from his headpiece. (Both 
laugh a little, re minis cently.) But you don't really 
mean to tell me 3^ou haven't played a concert since 
your marriage? 

Avis. Not one. I'm a minister's wife now ; have 
my home and my big wonderful husband to look 
after. 

Morris. Don't clink your fetters in my ears, 
Avis, it's discord. Music was the passion of your 
life. You must miss it — I know you do. Why, 
you're as out of place here as a rose in a soup kettle. 

Avis. Just the same cynic as you always were, 
aren't you, Morris? I can't expect you to under- 
stand what domestic happiness means! 

Morris. You poor girl ! 

Avis. Don't you dare to pity me! If I had to 
choose again between Clyde and my music as a life- 
time proposition, my choice would be Clyde, as be- 
fore. 

Morris. Well, if you won't allow me +o pity you, 
at least you can't stop me from pitying myself. 
Didn't I see you grow from a child-wonder into 
young womanhood — only to lose you at the start of 



COSY CORNERS 8t 

your real career? Oh, it wasn't the financial loss so 
much I minded. Music is my bug, you know. 

Avis. • (With real sympathy) Yes, I know. You 
should have been an artist yourself, Morris, and had 
your own career. Every one of us knew that. 

Morris. Avis, somethin;^ has come' into your 
voice that shows you've lived and loved. That was 
the one quality your playing used to lack. Gad, it 
makes me tremble to think how you could electrify 
them now. Don't you sometimes long to stand be- 
fore a big audience again — wouldn't the thunder of 
their applause be sweet to you ? 

Avis. I wonder? Sometimes in my dreams at 
night, I fancy I'm out in the middle of a big concert 
platform, drawing that live something from my 
violin that only the presence of a crowd seemed to 
inspire. (Gives slight start and changes her tone.) 
But let's talk about something else, besides the 
might-have-beens and all that. It seems a sort of 
disloyalty to Clyde, though I didn't mean it so. 

Morris. Don't pile your domesticity on too thick, 
little girl. You didn't think it disloyal when you 
played that Charities' date last week in New York. 
I'm a wise old owl, 3'ou know, and little escapes me. 

Avis. What Charities' date do you mean ? 

Morris. The Silver Shield Associated. I read 
your name among the other artists in the New York 
World. 

Avis. Then the New York World got me mixed 
with somebody else. On my word of honor, Morris, 
if such a notice appeared, it was all a mistake ! 

Morris. You don't mean it! By Jove! Then 
Hollister was right and I was wrong! 

Avis. You've seen Clyde? You were here to-day, 
once before? 

Morris. Yes — briefly — and gave Hollister a copy 
of the paper. 



82 COSY CORNERS 

Avis. Oh, poor Clyde! Now I understand why 
he acted so unlike himself before he left the house. 
If I had only known! Why didn't he tell ine he had 
seen you? 

Morris. You don't deny you're negotiating with 
the Quimby Bureau to play a week in vaudeville 
with special costumes, and at fancy prices? 

Avis. (Astonished) You — you knew I'd had 
that ofifer ? 

Morris. Why not? I was responsible for their 
having made it. After I read of your appearance, 
I was even looking forward to your taking a special 
tour under my management. 

Avis. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Morris, but 
my only interest in the Quimby offer was that it 
might help me to turn over some money to our 
church building fund as a help to my husband's 
work here in Cosy Corners. So I did dally with the 
temptation of playing that one week — I don't deny 
it. Not that I had any idea of going back to pro- 
fessional life — I hadn't. And I know now I should 
never have even considered the Quimby proposal. I 
was just wording a letter to them as you came in, 
turning their offer down. 

Morris. That's one on me, then, and I own I 
feel pretty well sold out. (Gets up and takes his 
hat.) I'll be going. I might as well. Accept my 
apologies for having disturbed the ministerial pond 
lilies on the stagnant mill-pond of your life here. 

Avis. Don't be grouchy, Morris. You'll discover 
a violinist some day so much bigger than I, you'll 
forget I was ever on your list. 

Morris. You're not helping matters any by manu- 
facturing words of consolation, Avis. When Fate 
hands me a wallop like this, somebody has got to 
pay. I had some twinges of conscience about advis- 
ing the girl as I did at first — little fool ! 



COSY CORNERS 83 

Avis. Advislnp;- what girl? 

Morris. A pretty little idiot here in Cosy Corners. 
She's goitig- on the train with me to New York to- 
night—expects to be a professional dancer. She 
stands about as much chance in that line as I do of 
making my debut as a prima donna. 

Avis. Then why should you encourage her to 
leave her home? (Thinks of Edna.j Oh, Morris 
— the girl? Would you mind telling me who she is? 

]\IoRRis. Ah — that's my guilty secret ! 

Avis. If I guess her name correctly, will you tell 
me then? 

Morris. Ha, ha, Avis, I was just spoofing you. 
There isn't any such girl. Guileless as ever, aren't 
you ? No, there's no occasion for a "rescue-the-per- 
ishing" act, even if 3'ou are a minister's wife. Well, 
so long! 

Avis. (Gives him her hand) Good-bye, Morris. 

f Clyde opens door and walks in.) 

Morris. How do again, Mr. Hollister? I really 
had to have a few words with my ex-star, you know, 
but I'm going now. 

Clyde. No, wait, please, Mr. Granby. I have 
some news for Mrs. Hollister I think you might be 
interested to hear. (Hands telegram to Avis.j 
They gave it to me as I passed the station. 

Morris. I'm always interested in anything that 
concerns Mrs. Hollister. 

Avis. (Glancing at telegram) From the Quimby 
agency. Oh, Clyde, it's really too bad you should 
know about the Quimby's. I hadn't meant that you 
should. And especially since you saw that news- 
paper notice ; it makes it all sort of hard to explain. 
But I was going to turn this offer down — you can 
see the addressed envelope there on my desk — and 



84 COSY CORNERS 

that newspaper notice was all a mistake in the first 
place — and the reason I was writing to the Quimby's 
was 

Clyde. I'm neither asking explanations nor de- 
manding excuses, Avis, but please don't try to make 
a fool of me, whatever you do. It's perfectly evident 
what you and your friend have been planning here — 
you tricked out in your tinsel finery to please him! 

Avis. Kindly go, Morris. I'm sorry you came 
just at this time 

Clyde. No, please remain, if you don't mind. 

Morris. (Looking at watch) There's half an 
hour yet until train time, but what's the idea, old 
man? 

Clyde. The idea is that I agree with you in think- 
ing my wife made a mistake in ever leaving the con- 
cert platform and that it is best for her to return 
to it. 

Avis. (Shocked) Clyde ! 

Clyde. The half hour between now and train 
time will doubtless give you sufficient opportunity to 
discuss the necessary contracts, and so forth. I give 
you my word I shall enter no objections. Excuse 
me — I shall not interrupt again. (Starts for study.) 

Avis. (Runs after him) Clyde, listen, yon must! 
Why, I hadn't a thought of going back to the con- 
cert stage. I was offered a short engagement that 
would have paid enough to help keep those builders 
at work — but I'd made up my mind it wasn't best to 
take it. You've always had that strange fear about 
my music — but, my dear, you come first. Won't 
you give me another chance to prove you come first ? 
("Clyde struggles with himself for a moment before 
replying, and Morris slips out of the door,) Clyde, 
answer me ! How can you act like this ! Your loss 
of faith in me at the very first test of it hurts — 
hurts more than anything else ever has in all my life 



COSY CORNERS 85 

before. Hasn't our life together been a precious 
thing — isn't it worth fighting for? 

Clyde. I've been plunged into perdition. Avis. 
It isn't so easy to climb back. 

Avis. If you could only have been here from the 
first — heard every word that passed between Morris 
and me — you'd know how you have misjudged m.e.' 

Edna. (Comes from study) Mr. Hollister, may 
I speak in? 

Clyde. Edna ! 

Edna. I was in your study when Mr. Granby 
came — have been there all this time. But I wanted 
him to go before I came out so I could tell you 
everything. He's a bad man — a wicked one — I know 

now (Sharp rap comes on door, made by the 

butt of a whip.) 

Avis. What's that? /"Clyde flings door open. 
Deacon enters, carrying buggy whip.) 

Deacon. Excuse me, Hollister, but I thought I 
saw Edna through the study window, an' here she 
is ! What are you runnin' over here at night for, 
when you ought to be at home an* in bed ? 

Edna. (Frightened) I — I was coming home 
pretty soon, Father. I — I just wanted to see Mrs. 
Hollister. There's to be a sale on Saturday 

Deacon. What you got on your Sunday clothes 
for? You wa'nt goin* to a dance unbeknown to me? 

Edna. No, no! 

Deacon. You w^a'nt plannin' to run away from 
home? You rebellious- (Raises whip.) 

Edna. Don't strike me again with that, Father. 
I was coming right home, indeed I was. Mrs. Hol- 
lister, wasn't I going back home? 

Avis. She was going back, Mr. Pettibone, she 
told me so herself. There's nothing to be gained by 
threatening her. 



86 COSY CORNERS 

Deacon. That's my business, Mis' Hollister. But 

as long as she was comin' home right away 

Whose satchel is that? Looks like some one was 
cal'latin' to take a train 

Edna. (As Deacon comes toward her) It's 
Mrs. Hollister's, Father. I — I was helping her pack 
it. It's Mrs. Hollister's. She asked me to help. Oh, 
Father — Please ! 

Deacon. Well, it's a good thing she's goin' some- 
where instead of you. Come along. I've got the 
buggy down to the corner. Come along. (Almost 
throws Edna out of door.) Good-night. (Exits c, 
after Edna.j 

Clyde. So Edna knew that you and Granby were 
planning to leave this house together to-night before 
I came ! 

Avis. You can believe such a thing of me — your 
wife! You dare to believe it? 

Clyde. (Points to satchel) With the proof of 
your intention confronting me — what other explana- 
tion can there be? 

Avis. None. Vm through with explanations. I'll 
not humiliate myself another moment. (Goes to 
take up her violin from top of desk, Clyde rushes 
and seises if.) Give me my violin ! 

Clyde. (Waving her back) No! 

Avis. (As he starts away from her, holding vio- 
lin behind him) What are you going to do? Give 
that back to me. It's very old and precious. Don't 
harm it, Clyde! Don't put my love to this fearful 
test! That violin is as sacred to me as if it were 
alive — sacred ! 

Clyde. Yes — more sacred than your marriage 
vows — an idol of wood — a devil it is my duty to 
destroy ! (Breaks violin over corner of chair.) 



COSY CORNERS 87 

Avis. My violin — oh ! (With sudden determina- 
tion.) You have decided it, I'm going back to the 
old Hfe — forever! (Gets long cape from rack, takes 
hat and goes out door c.) 

CURTAIN 



ACT rv. 

Time: Four months later. 

Scene: The same. 

Discovered: Amanda, setting pan of flouf on 
chair by table. Sophie is at table mixing bread. 

Sophie. Of course I can mix the bread, Amandy. 
I'm so happy to think of seeing Mrs. Hollister again, 
I could mix a whole wagon load without getting 
tired. 

Amanda. I don't s'pose she'll stay long enough 
to set down to a meal. Any woman that's been gone 
from her lawful wedded husband for nearly four 
months, needn't expect a brass-band an' a reception 
committee when she's only come back to pack up the 
odds an' ends belongin' to her, an' light out again. 

Sophie. I'll be just as glad to see her as if I 
were a brass band and a reception committee rolled 
into one. Don't you look forward to it, too, 'Mandy ? 

Amanda. (Takes up pan of apples) Well, I 
ain't got nothin' personal against her, except her 
runnin' around the country fiddlin' an' lettin' every- 
body see her in them sawed-ofif waists. But I ain't 
crazy for her to come back. I run things without 
her around here now to suit myself, and that's 
somethin'. (Starts to peel apples.) 

Sophie. Amandy, whatever made Mrs. Hollister 
88 



COSY CORNERS 89 

leave Cosy Corners in the first place? I know she 
wasn't to blame, nor Mr. Hollister either— but some- 
thing dreadful must have happened. 

Amanda. I wish folks'd stop askin' me questions. 
I was over to Mrs. Smith's tellin' about my proposal 
from Deacon Pettibone, when whatever happened 
did happen, an' the next mornin,' there was Mr. 
Hollister lookin' white as a wax candle, informin' 
me his wife had gone away for a few days. The few 
days has turned out to be four months instead. 
Seems like Fd ought to be told sometJiin' when I only 
work out for an accommodation ! (A whistle sounds 
outside.) 

Sophie. Oh, Amandy, that's Bob's whistle ! Not 
that I care whether he's coming in here or not, but 
do take down my curl paper, please, Amandy. My 
hands are all stuck up v/ith dough. 

Amanda. I'm busy with apple peelln', an' if Bob 
Bartlett never sees anythin' more immodest than a 
curl-paper, he's doin' well. (Bell rings.) Seems to 
me if it's nobody but Bob Bartlett, he might have 
come in the kitchen way. (Opens door.) 

Sophie. Bob Bartlett isn't a nobody! 

Bob. Ain't I, Sophie? (Steps inside, grinning, 
but uneasy.) 

Amanda. Good gracious, somethln's b'ilin over! 

Sophie. (As Amanda starts for kitchen) 
Amandy, if I were on speaking terms with Bob 
Bartlett, T would tell him his ma is in the study talk- 
ing to Mr. Hollister, and that he'd better run in 
there for fear I'll try to vamp him, in her absence. 
(Giggles. Amanda exits into kitchen.) 

Bob. Sophie, your curllmekew is coming loose. 
Let me fix it. 

Sophie. Bob Bartlett, don't you dare! (She 
goes to one side of the table, he stands the other.) 



90 COSY CORNERS 

Bob. You've had a grouch for a week. It isn't 
fair not to tell a fellow what's he's done. 

Sophie. (In tones of mysterious accusation) 
Sunday night ! 

Bob. ( Aggrieve dly y There you go again ! What 
about Sunday night? 

Sophie. What's the use of people pretending? 

Bob. (Reflectively) Sunday night! 

Sophie. Sunday night. 

Bob. Went to church with you. 

Sophie. And Phoebe Hoskins. 

Bob. Sat with you. 

Sophie. And Phoebe Hoskins. 

Bob. Told you "Good-night." 

Sophie. And Phoebe Hoskins ! I waited on the 
sidewalk, but there was a bright light inside the front 
door curtains, and I saw your two heads against it. 
(Sobs convulsively, as sh^e goes hack to mixing 
bread.) If you don't wipe my eyes, my tears will 
drop into Mrs. Hollister's bread and make it bitter. 

Bob. (Takes his handkerchief and wipes her 
eyes) There. Anybody'd think I'd kissed Phoebe 
Hoskins from the way you act. 

Sophie. Bob Bartlett, you're not going to deny 
it? 

Bob. (With virtuous indignation) I guess a fel- 
low can bite oil a piece of chewing gum a girl's 
holding in her mouth without kissing her if lie wants 
to, can't he? 

Sophie. Oh, Bob, was that all? 

Bob. (Conscientiously) Well, I sort of bumped 
her face doing it — calculated the distance wrong, but 
you know there's only one girl in the world for me ! 
(Puts his hands in dough along ivith hers.) 

Sophie. You'll spoil the 'bread. What are you 
trying, to do ? 

Bob. Trying to put a ring on your finger. I've 



COSY CORNERS 91 

dropped it. Where is it? What's this stuff made 
of — glue? 

Sophie. (As he strwggles with dough) Take 
your hands out. 'Mandy'll kill us ! 

Bob. I've got to find that ring. It's almost gold ! 

Sophie. Suppose someone should bite on it and 
break a tooth ! 

Amanda. (Calls from kitchen) Sophie, is that 
bread about ready to put in tins? {'Sophie and Bob 
start away frorii table, putting their hands behind 
them.) 

Bob. Whoever svvallaws that bread can set up for 
a jewelry store. 

Sophie. You'd better let me work at it a little 
longer, 'Mandy. ("Amanda enters.) 

Amanda. What for, if it's ready. (Puts hands 
in dough.) Suds an' seas, what's this? 

Bob. (In despair) Durned if she didn't ! 

Amanda. (Fishes out ring) I declare — it's a 
ring ! Must have come as a prize with the flour ! 

Bob. That's mine! 

Sophie. Yes, and it belongs to me. 

Amanda. Well, if it belongs to both of you, 
looks to me like it didn't belong to neither one. An' 
bein' as I only work out for an accommodation, what 
I find, I hold onto. (Amanda picks up bread-pan 
and starts to exit with it. Bob sits despairingly in 
pan of flour on chair.) 

Sophie. (As she follows Amanda off toward 
kitchen) Oh, Amandy — wait! It's the really truly 
truth ! (Giggles hysterically and exits inio kitchen 
after Amanda.) 

Bob. (Extricating himself with a moan from 
chair) Oh. thunder! (Exits into kitchen, dusting 
flour from troifse^'s, a^id carrying pan.) 

(Enter from study, Clyde and Mrs. Bartlett.) 



92 COSY CORNERS 

Mrs. Bartlett. So you see, it just won't do for 
you to resign, Clyde. Look at the way the young 
folks are flockin' to church from all the towns in 
drivin' distance. It just seemed as if old Mr. Carey 
dyin' an' willin' you that five thousand dollars 
changed everything. The crowds began comin' to 
hear you preach, an' they've been comin' ever since. 

Clyde. The church is in fine condition for my 
successor, Mrs. Bartlett. I didn't want to go until 
I had accomplished at least that much ; but down in 
my heart, I know I've been a failure here — a ghastly 
failure. Teaching the Christian virtues, and not liv- 
ing up to them» -myself when put to the test. 

Mrs. Bartlett. I know what you mean — Avis. 
But you've done ever3^thing you could to make up 
for the way you treated her. Why, if she knew 
about that trip you made to New York — if she knew 
right now that every time she played in public, a 
good deal of the sweetness of her music was owin' 
to you 

Clyde. Sh ! That was my little secret attempt at 
atonement — I never want her to know. 

Mrs. Bartlett. But why, Clyde, why? Even 
if you are separated for hfe, as you say, there ain't 
any reason why you shouldn't get to be friends 
again. 

Clyde. I couldn't be just friends with Avis. And 
even if I could, she wouldn't wish to t»e friends 
with me; When I broke that violin, it put an end 
to her love for me forever. Indifference might come 
to take the place of that love, but never friendship. 
That is why she said she would prefer not to see m.e 
when she came to the house to-day. 

Mrs. Bartlett. It seems so odd that in three 
hours' time she'll be back in this room* again. Bless 
her heart ! 

Clyde. Back where I used to v/atch her, moving 



COSY CORNERS 93 

about, humming a happy little tune, doing everything 
to make home a bright place for me 

Mrs. Bartlett. You must have missed her pet- 
tin' ways, Clyde. I know how she used to put your 
slippers by your arm-chair — run to the door forty 
times to see if you was comin' ^ 

Clyde. Don't ! (Bozvs head on hands.) 

(^Sophie and Bob enter from kitchen, f 

Sophie. Oh, Ma Bartlett, Bob's given me a ring, 
and you're going to be my daughter-in-law — I mean 
I'm going to be your mother 

Bob. She means we're engaged and that she is 
now my fiasco. 

(Entdr AiMANDA from kitchen.) 

Sophie. There's my ring to show I'm taken. 
(Shozvs ring.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Begins indignantly) Well, I've 
just a good mind to — but what's the use? 

Amanda. (To Bobj Now remember, young 
man, you've promised me a clothes- wringer for that 
prize flour ring. Excelsior. None of your cheap 
two dollar kind. 

M'RS. Bartlett. Clyde, will you contemplate 
them two spring chickens expectin' to hop into mat- 
rimony ? 

Sophie. Well, it's better to hop into matrimonv 
when you're a spring chicken, than to wait until 
you're an old hen, and get left. 

Amanda. Them that's been proposed to, and re- 
fused said proposal, ain't what I call "left." (Exits 
into kitchen, tri^nnphanilv.) 

Clyde. Well, Bob, Sophie. T hope you'll make 
very sure of your love for each other before you 



94 COSY CORNERS 

decide to get married. It's a natural, beautiful, but 
very serious step to take, and you have plenty of 
time before you. There's no need of haste. 

Bob. Oh, we won't get married for a whole 
month yet, will we, Sophie? 

Sophie. I don't care when. (Giggles.) 

Bob. I've noticed lots in the Bible, Mr. Hollister, 
about wives obeying their husbands, and I'm going 
to begin bossing Sophie right away. (Sternly.) 
Sophie, wipe your nose! (With a giggle, Sophie 
does so.) 

Sophie. If there isn't anything more to do to help 
Amandv. I'm going home to tell mother about us. 
Bob. 

Bob. Tell 'Mandy your future husband forbids 
your staying any longer. 

Sophie. Oh, Bob! (Giggles. They exit into 
kitchen.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, I discouraged 'em both as 
long as I could. I sort of thought it was my duty — 
their bein' so young, though I haven't any objections 
to Sophie. Her giggle is irritatin', but sort of enter- 
tainin' too. But there, Clyde, I know I'm keepin' 
you from makin' out that conference report you was 
workin' on. I've got a word to say to Amandy an' 
then I'm goin*. You — you won't let me try to bring 
you an' Avis together while she's here? 

Clyde. No. Please, Mrs. Bartlett, don't speak of 
that again. (Goes into study. Bell rings.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Calls off to Amandaj You 
needn't stop your work, Amandy. I'll 'tend the door. 
(Opens door.) 

Deacon. (Steps inside) How do, Cynthia ? I'm 
pretty well out of breath. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Take this armchair. Land 
sakes, I hadn't supposed you was able to be out! 



COSY CORNERS 95 

You're actin' pretty spry for a man that's been as 
sick as you have. 

Deacon'. Anybody home? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Clyde's just gone into his study. 
I'll call him. 

Deacon. (Shakes his head) It ain't him I want 
to see — it's Mrs. Hollister. 

Mrs. Bartlett. I thought I told you she wasn't 
expected till late this afternoon. I don't know what 
you can be wantin' to see Mrs. Hollister about any- 
how, Jonathan. 

Deaconn. There's lots of things you don't know, 
Cynthia, though I ain't expectin' you to believe it. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, well, how natural that 
sounds ! Just like the Jonathan Pettibone you was 
before you was taken sick an' had to be operated on. 

Deacon. Did you s'pose my sick spell had turned 
me into an angel or somethin' ? Well, it didn't. I'm 
the same man as I've always been, only broke down 
a little in strength. 

Mrs. Bartlett. You're never goin' to be as 
spiteful an' hard-headed again, as you've been in the 
last two years. Doctor Leeds said you wa'nt. I 
knew there was somethin' that wa'nt natural about 
your cantankerousness, though you always did have 
some ways I didn't like. 

Deacon. (Cold manner) Can't everybody be as 
perfect as you be, Cynthy. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Just to think of your sufferin' 
an' sufferin' from that fall you had, an' keepin* it all 
to yourself. Doctor Leeds said that what you'd gone 
through — an' without openin' your mouth about it — 
was enough to make an angel take off his wings an' 
holler for horns an* brimstone. Of course. Edna 
wouldn't ever have run away from home, if she'd 
known vou was comin' down like you did. 

Deacon. You know why she went, don't you? 



96 COSY CORNERS 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, everybody says it was on 
account of your wantin' her to marry that Firetown 
minister, but of course, you couldn't have made her 
do it. 

Deacon. I tried to. I took the whip to her, like 
she was a dog or a wildcat or somethin' — instead of 
my own flesh an' blood ! An' God ain't never goin' 
to forgive me. I've prayed an' prayed, but I can't 
get a sign of grace. She was all I had, Cynthia, an' 
I ain't never goin' to see her again. But, it seems 
like she'd write to Mis' Hollister an' let her know 
where she was. I just want to git her address from 
Mis' Hollister an' write to her, explainin' I wa'nt 
quite myself when I done it — that's all. Don't want 
her thinkin' that way of me when I'm dead an' gone. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Perhaps Avis does know where 
Edna is. I hope so, though don't be too disappointed 
if she don't, Jonathan. She's written to me twice 
since she's been gone, an' there wa'nt a mention of 
Edna in either letter. 

Deacon. Well, I'll go on down to the post-office. 
If Edna'd only write say in' she needed some money, 
Cynthia, even if she said she wa'nt comin' home — I 
think I'd be a well man after that. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Your soul's got well. Jonathan, 
if your body ain't. An' I believe the Lord'll set it 
right between you an' Edna — now you're deservin' 
of it. My land, I've come to believe that half the 
time what folks think is inside meanness, is only 
inside misery instead ! An' we'd all ought to learn 
to make allowances for each other. 

Deacon. If you see ]\Iis' Hollister before I do. 
tell her I'm wantin' to talk with her, will you? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Of course I will, Jonathan. 
Don't over-do, now, an' give yourself a set-back. 

Deacon. I won't. (Exits c.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Opens kitchen door, and 



COSY CORNERS 97 

speaks off) Amandy (Hesitates in surprise.) 

Well, what are you two doin' there in Amandy's 
kitchen ? ' (Enter Libbie and Jane J 

LiBBiE. We saw Mr. Pettibone's buggy hitched 
at the curb 

Jane. And we aren't crazy al)out. talking with 
him, so we thought we'd stay outside until he'd gone. 

Libbie. What we came for was to find out when 
dear Mrs. Hollister is expected. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Mercy me, not for hours an' 
hours! You'll have to come late this afternoon, if 
you want to see her! 

Libbie. Oh. I'm just dying to see her! 

Jane. So am I ! I think it was just too romantic 
and mysterious the way she vanished from Cosy 
Corners. 

Libbie. Poor dear Mr. Hollister! I never saw 
anyone look as handsome and tragic as he does ! 

Jane. Our hearts just ache for him ! 

Mrs. Bartlett. Now don't you flappers start in 
pityin' the minister too. All the old maids an* 
widows in town have been wallin' their eyes at him, 
till they've made him sick to his stomach. 

"Jane. Dear me, I never dreamed of walling at 
Mr. Hollister. Johnnie Spriggins would never speak 
to me again if I did. 

Mrs. Bartlett. I s'pose you two will be on hand 
together as usual, at the social to open the new Sun- 
day School room next Tuesday? 

Jane. Well, Johnnie Spriggins has invited me, 
but I told him my dearest friend, Libbie, might be 
expecting to go with me, and that if she did, I abso- 
lutely couldn't slight her and hurt her feelings 

Libbie. (Flarinn ifp) Indeed! T thank you very 
much. Jane, but Willie Graham invited me long be- 
fore Johnnie Sprio-nrins ever thouc;ht of asking you, 
and I told him if I went with anyone outside of my 



98 COSY CORNERS 

dearest friend, who very likely would not have an 
outside invitation 

Jane. I'm just as popular as you are — and I'd 
rather go to the social with the horridest boy in town 
than you, so there ! 

LiBBiE. Why didn't I tell Willie Graham at once 
that I'd go with him? 

Jane. You better do it soon, or he might back 
out! 

Mrs. Bartlett. Now, now% what cat-scratchin' ! 
You two that have always been such friends ! 

Libbie. (To Mrs. Bartlettj Our interests 
don't seem to be the same any more. 

Libbie. Maybe when we're married, and old, and 
gray 

Jane. (Completes the idea) — we'll understand. 
Yes, maybe then. (She sighs, and her sigh is re- 
peated by Libbie. j Libbie! 

Libbie. Jane ! 

Jane and Libbie. (Together) Good-bye for- 
ever ! (They rush info each others arms.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. (To herself) The four hundred 
an' sixty- fourth time ! 

Jane. I'm going home by the way of Main Street. 
Are you? 

Libbie. (Sadly) Yes, and I suppose we might 
as well walk along together. 

Jane. (Resignedly) Yes, we might as well. 

Libbie and Jane. (Simultaneously) Good-bye, 
Mrs. Bartlett. 

Mrs. Bartlett. (In tone of great relief) Good- 
bye. (Exit Libbie and Jane c.) 

Marietta. (Steps inside from kitchen door) Oh, 
Ma Bartlett, I said you was here, an' you are here, 
ain't you ? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Why, of course, child ! Aren't 
you lookin' right at me ? 



COSY CORNERS 99 

Marietta. Yes, but are you sure you're here? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Another crazy question Hke that 
an* ril turn you across my knee. 

Marietta. Well, the strange lady said to make 
sure an' no mistake you was here an' no one was 
with you, an' she'd come over. She's standin' across 
the street now. 

Mrs. Bartlett. 'Twa*nt Mrs. Hollister, was it? 

Marietta. No, 'cause she asked if Mis' Hollister 
had got here when she rang our doorbell. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, wave her to come on over. 
Who is she, I wonder? 

Marietta. (Af front door, tvaves) She's comin'. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Anybody with her? 

Marietta. Nobody but a handbag. (She opens 
the door wide, admittmg Edna, so heavily veiled as 
to he unrecognisable.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Come right in, Miss. I'm Mrs. 
Bartlett, an' if you've got any word for me from 

Mrs. Hollister (^Edna looks at Marietta, 

draws a card from handbag and gives it to Mrs. 
Bartlett, zvho, after reading it, gives exclamation 
of surprise.) Run along, Marietta, I've somethin' 
to say to this lady alone. 

Marietta. What are you goin' to say? 

Mrs. Bartlett. You run along. 

Marietta. Can't I wait in the kitchen ? 

Mrs. Bartlett. No, an' you'll get paddled with 
my slipper when I get home if you ask another ques- 
tion. 

Marietta. People oughtn't to take slippers to an 
orphan. People ought to tell orphans they could ask 
Sally Ann for a large piece of bread an' butter an' 
blackberry jam if they ran along. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Well, well ask her, if nothin' 
else will do you ! 



loo COSY CORNERS 

Marietta. Oh, goody, blackberry jam! (Runs 
out at c.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Why, Edna Pettibone, of all the 
surprisin' things! I'm mighty glad to see you, 
child. Of course I'll manage to show you Mrs. 
Hollister's own private room — just as she's asked me 
to. 

Edna. Not a soul has guessed who I am. I didn't 
want to come to Cosy Corners at all — but she made 
me. She stopped for something at the photographer's 
on the way up. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Come on upstairs. To think 
you've been travelin' all this time with Avis an' no- 
body hearin* a word of it ! (They exit l,) 

(Bell rings. Clyde enters from study. Bell rings 
again,) 

Clyde. Amandy ! Amandy ! (There /.t no an- 
swer, and he goes to door himself. Enter Avis, fol- 
lowed by Bob, carrying a satchel.) Avis ! 

Bob. Gee, I was glad I happened to see Mrs. 
Hollister trotting along with her satchel. Won't 
Sophie be surprised when I tell her? 

Avis. Give Sophie my love. And I thank you, 
Bob. so much. 

Bob. Don't mention it. You're looking fine, Mrs. 
Hollister. I hope you've come to stay. (Exits c.) 

Avis. There's been some mistake, I'm afraid. I 
wrote Mrs. Bartlett I was coming on an earlier train. 
Perhaps my letter failed to reach her. 

Clyde. Fm sure it did. She told me you were 
not to arrive till late this afternoon. I knew you 
did not wish to see me, and had made my plans to be 
away. Fm sorry. 

Avis. After all, it doesn't matter. If you don't 
mind being inconvenienced for a very short while. 



COSY CORNERS loi 

I'll soon be gone. But, if you would prefer me to 
postpone 'my errand — if I am interfering with 
appointments or anything 

Clyde. You are not. and once my study door 
closes on me, you'll not be troubled with the sight 
of me again. (He staggers and catches at the back 
of a chair.) 

Avis. (Politely, as a stranger might speak) You 
— you're not ill or anything, are you ? 

Clyde. No, only an extra heart-beat at seeing 
you unexpectedly. It sort of brought back old 
times. 

Avis. (Coldly) If it is just the same to you, I 
think I'd rather not speak of old times. I'm really 
not interested in the subject. 

Clyde. Not interested! And the very sight of 
you makes me dizzy with rapture and pain ! You 
bring moonlit memories and the perfume of roses 
with you. Avis, Avis, has that one night, that one 
insane jealous outbreak — changed me entirely in 
your sight? 

Avis. (Hand to heart) There's only silence in 
my heart to answer you now. Those old chords of 
pain are stifled. I want them never to vibrate again. 

Clyde. Avis, I was cruel, unmanly, unjust — but 
if you'll only give me one hope — a single ray — I'll 
fight to win back the love I have lost as a soldier 
fights for his flag. 

Avis. Please, please, don't, or I can not stay here 
another moment. 

Clyde. Forgive me. (Goes slozvly into study and 
closes door. Avis stands rigidly as he left her. Then 
takes off hat and coat and throzvs them on chair. 
Undoes satchel. Finds some music on table and puts 
it into satchel. Finds a small clock and puts it in. 
Amanda begins to sing a hymn tune in a harsh voice 



I02 COSY CORNERS 

and Avis^ hmnediatcly, recollecting her presence for 
first time, goes into kite hen.) 

Amanda. (Heard in kitchen) Well, for the land 
sakes, I never 

(Door closes, shutting out her voice. Enter Mrs. 
Bartlett from l. She sees Avis's hat and 
coat. Listens and hears sound of her voice in 
kitchen. As she starts for kitchen. Deacon 
gives a sharp rap at door c. and enters.) 

Deacon. Cynthia — Mis' Hollister's here, ain't 
she? Bob told me she was. Did you tell her I 
wanted to see her? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Not yet. You sit down there, 
Jonathan, an' give me a chance to go out an' say how 
do to her myself. But I've got this much to say — 
you needn't worry about Edna. Mrs. Hollister has 
been lookin' after her all the time she's been away. 

Deacon. Thank the Lord — thank the Lord ! (In 
old suspicious manner.) It's all right to say she's 
been lookin' after her, but how do you know she has ? 

Mrs, Bartlett. (With caution) I was handed 
a letter from Mrs. Hollister since I saw you ; an' 
you've got occasion to be thankful. Jonathan Petti- 
bone. Edna would have left Cosy Corners trustin' 
the promise of Morris Granby to get her work in 
New York, if it hadn't been for her findin' out 
through Avis he wasn't meanin' to play fair. That's 
why, when she did leave home, she went straight to 
where Avis was. I've been learnin' all about it. 
(Enter Avis from kitchen.) Avis! There you are 
at last 1 I never was so tickled to see anybody in my 
life! (Puis her arms about Avis.j 

Avis. (With emotion) Dear Mrs. Bartlett, to 
see your kind face again almost makes me cry ! 
(Looks at Deacon, ayid starts hack horrified at his 



COS\ CORNERS 103 

changed appearance.) Why, this isn't Deacon Petti- 
bone ? 

Deacon. Yes, it is, what's left of me. I — I 
wanted a few words with you if you've got time to 
spare, Mis' HoHlster. 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Significantly) I'm goin' into 
the study, Avis, but your maid is in the next room 
there in case you want her for anythin' ! (Goes into 
study.) 

Avis. Well, Deacon Pettibone? 

Deacon. Mis' Hollister, I'm a stubborn old man 
— I belong to a perverse an' stiff-necked generation 
— it ain't easy for me to eat humble pie, but- — tell 
me where Edna is. 

Avis. (Gently) But you and Edna did not get 
along very well together before she left home. Why 
should you want to know where she is? 

Deacon. Because I'm different from what I was. 
It was Satan himself that got hold of me an' made 
me take the whip to her. I ain't sorry now that she 
didn't agree to marry Parson Umpstead — he wa'nt 
suitable for her — I must have been sort of crazy to 
think he was. I ain't expectin' Edna to come home 
— but I want her to know I ain't the man any more 
that took a whip to her. 

Avis. Oh, I'm so glad to hear you say that. I 
hope you are different, Deacon Pettibone, and that 
you're going to take it right when I tell you I have 
brought Charlie into Edna's life again — ^because I 
knew they loved each other — and that she's going to 
m.arry him. 

Deacon, Goin' to marry Charlie ? 

Avis. Yes. 

Deacon^ I ain't against it. He's a good boy — if 
he is a leetle too -fond of dancin'. An' she's goin' 
to marry him ! That means, I s'pose, she won't have 
no occasion* to come home, an' I'll never see her 



104 COSY CORNERS 

again. (Takes handkerchief and wipes his eyes. 
Avis motions to l., where a door has gently opened. 
Edna comes out and Avis exits into same room, 
leaving Edna alone -with the Deacon J 

Edna. (Tremulously) Poor old Daddy ! 

Deacon. (Looks up) Edna — 'Tain'tyou! (They 
embrace.) My little girl! Listen, Edna, if you an' 
Charlie want to come back to Cosy Corners — I'll 
turn over my business to him. He ain't got my 
brains, but I'll risk it. An' I'll build you your own 
house to live in — big a one as you want. Fancy 
trimmin's if you say so 

Edna. Father, you look so thin and starved! 
That's all I can think of now. 

Deacon. I've missed them corn fritters you used 
to make. 

Edna. We'll go right over to the house and I'll 
bake you some. We'll talk about Charlie and every- 
thing while I'm there. 

Deacon. (As she starts to help him) No need to 
help me. I'm feelin' better every minute. (They 
exit c, together.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Enters from study) Avis, 
Avis, where are you ? 

Avis. (Enters from l. 7vith a^'m full of laces, 
ribbons, etc., and most prominent of all, a beautiful 
negligee) I didn't know I'd find so many things to 
go in my satchel. I'll have barely room for every- 
thing. 

Mrs. Bartlett. (Looks at Avis, sadly) Dear 
me, dear me ! It's all I can do to keep from settin' 
you down hard in that chair, an' pilin' on you to 
keep you there, f Avis holds up negligee and gives 
it a slight shake to remove wrinkles.) H'm ! That 
was one of your weddin' breakfast wrappers that 
Clyde Hked particular, wasn't it? (As Avis, without 
replying, save by a shrug, starts to fold it azvay.) 



COSY CORNERS 105 

Now, now, do let that wait an', sit down an' talk 
with me a, minute. (^Avis takes a chair.) 

Avis. I can't talk very long. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Those newspaper notices you 
sent me in your last letter were grand ? 

Avis. Yes, weren't they wonderful ! And vaude- 
ville was an untried field for me, too ! 

Mrs. Bartlett. One paper just raves about your 
fine violin, I notice. (With pretended innocence.) 
Was it the one you used to play on in Boston ? 

Avis. (Slozvly) No, I never told you, but that 
one was broken. Some rich music-lover, I don't 
know who — sent me my new one, just at a time when 
I was needing it most. It is mellow in tone — beau- 
tiful. As soon as I began to play on it, it was 
almost as if the spirit of my old violin had come back 
to me. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Then I s'pose mebbe that was 
the one Clyde heard you play on in Worcester, that 
week you was there. 

Avis. Clyde heard me? 

Mrs. Bartlett. He went on purpose. That's 
why he feels so different about your music from 
what^ie did. 

Avis. Different ? How — different? 

Mrs. Bartlett. Why, he says he discovered, 
hearin' you play before a big crowd of people, that 
his gift of eloquence couldn't ever do half towards 
inspirin' folks to lead good an' hopeful lives that 
your violin-playin' could. He said he'd ought to 
have realized such an artist belonged to the world as 
well as to him, an' not acted so small about it. 

Avis. Why, I can hardly believe he could change 
like that ! But — what's the use of talking of it now ? 
I'd rather talk of wy new violin. 

Mrs. Bartlett. I, ain't any objection to that. 
(Shows slip in her hand.) I picked this up on 



io6 COSY CORNERS 

Clyde's desk just now when he wa'nt lookin'. 1 
promised I wouldn't sa}^ nothin', but I didn't promise 
not to show anythin' I found. Maybe this would 
interest you, Avis. (Passes slip of paper to Avis.j 

Avis. (Amazed) "Violin — $3,400. Received 
payment." Mrs. Bartlett, then it was Clyde, Clyde 
himself that 

Mrs. Bartlett. Yes, that bought it and didn't 
want you ever to know. Don't that show that he 
loves you — an' is deservin' of a little mercy, no 
matter what he did ? 

Avis. Clyde (Looks at slip again. Chokes. 

Puts handkerchief to eyes. Rises.) Mrs. Bartlett, 
I want you to go back in the study, and when you 
hear a door close — tell Clyde — oh, tell him anything 
to bring him here ! Do you understand ? Of course, 
he must think I have gone, or he'll never consent to 
come. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Sometimes a white lie is ex- 
cusable. (Exits into study.) 

Avis. (Gives a happy little sigh, takes 'corsage 
bouquet from dress and arranges it in vase on table. 
Pulls armchair close to table, gets slippers and 
places them by armchair. Slips negligee over her 
dress) There ! 

Amanda. (Enters from kitchen) You said you 
wa'nt meanin' to stay, Mis' Hollister, didn't you ? 

Avis. (Pleasantly) Yes, that's what I said. 

Amanda. Well, whether you've changed your 
mind or not, I've got some rights, seein' as I only 
work out for an accommodation. (Picks up slippers 
and throws them into corner.) As for them flowers 
— I ain't never been so disgusted with anything 
unless 'twas Deacon Pettibone, the night I refused 
to take his offer. Never hked flowers in the house 
anyway. (Pulls fioivers from vase.) 



COSY CORNERS 107 

Avis. (With authority) Put those flowers back 
in that fase. 

Amanda. (Amazed) What? 

Avis. Put them back. You may take your choice 
— work out for an accommodation somewhere else — 
or stay here and do as I tell you. Mistakes or no 
mistakes, I mean to run the house to suit myself 
and my husband. 

Amanda. (Complete cowed. Pitts flozvers hack 
and returns slippers to place) Yes, ma'am. I'll 
wait for further orders in the kitchen. (Exits into 
kitchen.) 

(Avis goes off l., closing door with loud bang. In 
U moment, ]\Irs. Bartlett enters from study, 
Clyde close behind.) 

Mrs. Bartlett. Avis ain't here, I tell you. You 
can look for yourself. 

Clyde. You said someone wanted to see me. 
There's no one about. 

Mrs. Bartlett. Yes, there is. (Goes to door c. 
and exits, looking back mischievotisly. Clyde fol- 
lozvs to door and opens if.) 

Clyde. But, Mrs. Bartlett fAvis slips in 

from L. o^id he turns and sees her.) You? 

Avis. No, a girl from China. 

Clyde. (Stupidly) You haven't gone? (She 
shakes her head childishly.) You've missed your 
train ? 

Avis. No, but I'm going to ! 

Clyde. (Rapturously) Avis ! Avis ! (She goes 
into his arms.) 

CURTAIIvI 



The Return of Hi Jinks 

A comedy in four acts, by Marion Short, author of "The Varsity 
Coach," "The Touch-Down," etc. 6 males, 8 females. Costumes 
modern. One interior scene. 

This comedy is founded upon and elaborated from a farce comedy 
in two acts written by j. H. liorta, and originally produced at Tuft's 
College. 

Hiram Poynter Jinks, a Junior in I'loosic College (Willie Collier 
type), and a younjf mcvinir victinf actress (Mary Pickford type), are 
the leading characters in this lively, modern farce. 

Thomas Hodge, a Senior, envious of the popula'-ity of Jinks, wishes 
to think up a scheme to throw ridicule upon him during a visit of 
the Hoosic Glee Club to Jinks's home town. Jinks has obligingly acted 
as a one-day substitute in a moving picture play, in which there is a 
fire scene, and this gives Hodge his cue. He sends what seems to 
be a bona fide account of Jink's heroism at a Hoosic fire to Jink's 
home paper. Instead of repudiating his laurels as expected. Jinks 
decides to take a flyer in fame, confirms the fake story, confesses to 
being a hero and is adored by all the girls, to the chagrin and dis- 
comfiture of Hodge. Of course, the truth comes out at last, but 
Jinks is not hurt thereby, and his romance with Mimi Mayflower 
comes to a successful termination. 

This is a great comedy for amateurs. It is full of funny situations 
and is sure to please. Price, 30 Cents. 



June 



A most successful coroedy-drama. in four acts, by Marie Doran, 
author of "The New Co-Ed," "Tempest and Sunshine," "Dorothy's 
Neighbors," etc. 4 males, 8 females. One interior scene. Costumes 
modern. Plays 2J-^ hours. 

This play has a very interesting group of young people. June is 
an appealing little ligure. an orphan living with her aunt. There are 
a number of delightful, life-like characters: the sorely tried likeable 
Mrs. Hopkins, the amusing, haughty Miss Pianks of the glove depart- 
ment, the lively Tilly and Milly. who work in the store, and ambitious 
Snoozer; Mrs. Hopkins's only son, who aspires to be President of the 
United States, but finds his real sphere is running the local trolley 
car. The play is simplicity itself in the telling of an every-day story, 
and the scenic requirements call for only one set, a room in the 
boarding house of Mrs. Hopkins, while an opportunity is afforded to 
introduce any number of extra characters. Musical numbers may be 
introduced, if desired. Price, 30 Cents. 

Tempest and Sunshine 

A comedy drama in four acts, by Marie Doran. 5 males and 3 
females. One exterior and three interior scenes. Plays about 2 hours. 

Every school girl has revelled in the sweet simplicity and gentle- 
ness of the characters interwoven in the charms that Mary J. Holmes 
command." in her story of "Tempest and Sunshine." We can strongly 
recommend this play as one of the best plays for high school pro- 
duction published in recent years. Price, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty Whe.n Produced) 



SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 Wsst 38th Street, New York City 

N8W and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free on Request 



DOROTHY'S NEIGHBORS. 

A brand new cnmedy in four acts, by Marie Doran, author of "The 
New Co-Ed," "Tempest and Sunshine," and many other successful 
plays. 4 males, 7 females. The scenes are extremely easy to 
arrange; two plain interiors and one exterior, a garden, or, if neces- 
sary, the two interiors will answer. Costumes modern. Plays 254 
hours. 

The story is about vocational training, a subject now widely dis- 
cussed; also, the distribution of large wealth. 

Back of the comedy situation and snappy dialogue there is good 
logic and a sound moral in this pretty play, which is worthy the 
attention of the experienced amateur. It is a clean, wholesome play, 
particularly suited to high school production. Price, 30 Cents. 



MISS SOMEBODY ELSE. 

A modern play in four acts by Marion Short, author of "The 
Touchdown," etc. 6 males, 10 females. Two interior scenes. Cos- 
tumes modern. Plays 2% hours. 

This delightful comedy has gripping dramatic moments, unusual 
character types, a striking and original plot and is essentially modern 
in theme and treatment. The story concerns the advetures of Con- 
stance Darcy, a multi-millionaire's y^ung daughter. Constance em- 
barks on a trip to find a young man who had been in her father's 
employ and had stolen a large sum of money. She almost succeeds, 
when suddenly all traces of the young man are lost. At this point 
she meets some old friends who are living in almost want and, in 
order to assist them through motives benevolent, she determines to 
sink her own aristocratic personality in that of a refined but humble 
little Irish waitress with the family that are in v/ant. She not only 
carries her scheme to success in assisting the family, but finds 
romance and much tense and lively adventure during the period of 
her incognito, aside from capturing the young man who had defrauded 
her father. The story is full of bright comedy lines and dramatic 
situations and is highly recommended for amateur production. This 
is one of the best comedies we have ever offered with a large num- 
ber of female characters. The dialogue is bright and the play is full 
of action from start to finish; not a dull moment in it. This is a 
great .comedy for high schools and colleges, and the wholesome story- 
will please the parents and teachers. We strongly recommend it. 

Price, JO Cents* 



PURPLE AND FINE LINEN. 

An exceptionally pretty comedy of Puritan New England, m thr^e 
acts, by Am.ita B. Fairgrieve and Helena Miller. 9 male, S female 
characters. 

This is the Lend A Hand Smith College yrize play. It is an ad- 
mirable play fnr amateurs, is rich in character portrayal of varied 
types and is not too difficult while thoroughly pleasing. 

Price, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City 

Ntw and Explicit Descriptive Catalogue Mailed Free en Request 



BILLETED. 

A comedy m 3 acts, by F. Teunison Jesse and H. Harwood. 4 
males. 5 females. Otie easy interior scene. A charming comedy, 
constructed with urcommcn skill, and abound? with clever lines. 
Margaret Anglin's br,-^ success. Amateurs will find this comedy easy 
to produce an^ popular with all audiences. Price, 60 Cents. 

NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. 

A comedy in 3 acts. By James ISIontgomcry. 5 males, 6 females. 
Costumes, modern. Two interior scenes. Piays 2J^ hours. 

Is it possible to tell the absolute truth — even for twenty-four hours? 
It is— at least Bob Bennett, ti.e hero of "Nothing But the Truth." 
accomplished the feat. The bet he made with his business partners, 
and the trouble he got into — with his partners, his friends, and his 
fiancef — this is the subiect of Willi.im Collier's tremendous comedy 
hit. "Nothing But the Truth" can be whole-heartedly recommended 
as one of the most sprightly, amusing and popular comedies that this 
countrv ca»l boast. Price, 60 Cents. 



IN WALKED JIMMY. 



A comedy in 4 acts, by Minnie Z. Jaffa. 10 males, '? females (al- 
though any number of males and females may be used as clerks, 
etc.). Two interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Plays 2'/2 hours. 
The thing into which Jimmy walked was a broken-down shoe factory, 
•when the clerks had all been fired, and when the proprietor was in 
serious contemplation of suicide. 

Jinimj', nothing else but plain Jimmy, would have been a mysterious 
figure had it not been for his matter-cf-fact manner, his smile and 
his e^-rrlasting hum.anness. He put the shoe business on its feet, won 
the heart of the girl clerk, saved her erring brother from jail, escaped 
th?t place as a permanent boarding- house himself, and foiled the 
\ill2in. 

Clean, wholesome comedy with just a touch of human nature, just 
a dash of excitement and more than a little bit of true philosophy 
make "In Walked Jim.my" one rf the most delightful of plays. 
Jimmy is full of the religion of life, the religion of happiness and 
the religion of helpfulness, and he so permeates the atmosphere with 
his "religion" that everyone is happy. The spirit of optimism, good 
cheer, and hearty laughter dominates the p'av. There is not a dull 
moment in any of the four acts. We strongly recommend it. 

Price, 60 Cents. 



MARTHA BY-THE-DAY, 

An optim.istic comedy in three acts, by Julie M. Lippmann, author 
of the "Martha" stories. 5 males, 5 females. Three interior scenes. 
Costumes modern. Plays 21/1 hours. 

It is altogether a gentlp th-ng, this play. It is full of quaint hu- 
mor^ old-fashioned, homely sentiment, the kind that people who see 
the play y.'ill recall and chuckle over to-morrow and the next day. 

M'ss Lippmann has herself adapted her very successful book for 
r-tacre service, and in doing this has selected from her novel the most 
telling incidents, infectious comedy rnd liomely sentiment for the 
play, and the result is thoroughly delightful. Price, 60 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL FRENCfl, 28-30 We,t 38th Street, New York City 

New and Eiplieit Dsficriptive Catiilegae Mailed Free on Request 



The Touch-Down 

A comedy in four acts, by Marion Short. 8 males, 6 females, but 
any number of characters can be introduced in the ensembles. Cos- 
tumes modem. One interior scene throughout the play. Time, 2J4 
hours. 

This play, written for the use of clever amateurs, is the story of 
life in Siddell, a Pennsylvania co -educational college. It deals with 
the vicissitudes and final triumph of the Siddell Football Eleven, and 
the humorous and dramatic incidents connected therewith. 

"The Touch-Down" has the true varsity atmosphere, college songs 
are sung, and the piece is lively and entertaining throughout. High 
schools will make no mistake in producing this play. We strongly 
recommend it as a high-class and well-written comedy. 

Price, 30 Cents, 

Hurry, Hurry, Hurry 

A comedy in three acts, by LeRoy Arnold. 5 males, 4 females. 
One interior scene. Costumes modern. Plays 2J4 hours. 

The story is based on the will of an eccentric aunt. It stipulates 
that her pretty niece must be affianced before she is twenty-one, and 
married to her fiance within a year, if she is to get her spinster 
relative's million. Father has nice notions of honor and fails to tell 
daughter about the will, so that she may make her choice untram- 
meled by any other consideration than that of true love. The action 
all takes place in the evening the midnight of which will see her 
reach twenty-one. Time is therefore short, and it is hurry, hurry, 
hurry, if she is to become engaged and thus save her father from 
impending bankruptcy. 

The situations are intrinsically funny and the dialogue is sprightly. 
The characters are natural and unaffected and the action moves with 
a snap such as should be expected from its title. Price, 30 Ceats. 

The Varsity Coach 

A three-act play of college life, by Marion Short, specially adapted 
to performance by amateurs or high school students. 5 males 6 
females, but any number of boys and girls may be introduced in the 
action of the play. Two settings necessary, a college boy's room and 
the university campus. Time, about 2 hours. 

Like many another college boy, "Bob" Selby, an all-round popular 
college man, becomes possessed of the idea that athletic prowess is 
more to be desired than scholarship. He is surprised in the midst of 
a "spread" in his room in Regatta week by a visit from his aunt 
who IS putting him through college. Aunt Serena, "a lady of the old 
school and the dearest little woman in the whole world," has hastened 
to make this visit to her adored nephew under the mistaken impression 
that he is about to receive the Fellowes prize for scholarship. Her 
grief and chagrin when she learns that instead of the prize Robert 
has received "a pink card," which is equivalent to suspension for poor 
scholarship, gives a touch of pathos to an otherwise jolly comedy of 
eotlege life. How the repentant Robert more than redeems himself, 
carries off honors at the last, and in the end wins Ruth, the faithful 
little sweetheart of the "Pram" and the classroom, makes a story of 
dramatic interest and brings out very clearly certain phases of modern 
ootlege life. There are several opportunities for the introduation of 
coHcse songs and "stunts." Price, 30 Cents. 

(The Above Are Subject to Royalty When Produced) 
SAMUEL PRBNCH. 28-30 West 38th Street, New Yofk City 

Nfw and Cxulicit Oiscriptive Catalogue Mailed Fr«i «■ Request 



FRENCH'S 

Standard Library Edition 

Includes Plays by 



Clyde Fitch 

William Gillette 

Augustus Thomas 

George Broadhurst 

Edward E. Kidder 

Percy MacKaye 

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 

Louis N. Parker 

R. C. Carton 

Alfred Sutro 

Richard Harding Davis 

Sir Arthur W. Pinero 

Anthony Hope 

Oscar Wilde 

Haddon Chambers 

Jerome K. Jerome 

Cosmo Gordon Lennox 

H. V. Esmond 

Mark Swan 

Grace L. Fumiss 

Marguerite Merrington 

Hermann Sudermann 

Rida Johnson Young 

Arthur Law 

Rachel Crothers 

Martha Morton 

H. A. Du Souchet 

W. W. Jacobs 

Madeleine Lucette Ryley 



Booth Tarkington 
J. Hartley Manners 
James Forbes 
James Montgomery 
Wm. C. de MiUe 
Roi Cooper Megrue 
Edward E. Rose 
Israel Zangwill 
Henry Bernstein 
Harold Brighouse 
Channing Pollock 
Harry Durant 
Winchell Smith 
Margaret Mayo 
Edward Peple 
A. E. W. Mason 
Charles Klein 
Henry Arthur Jones 
A. E. Thomas 
Fred. BaUard 
Cyril Harcourt 
Carlisle Moore 
Ernest Denny 
Laurence Housman 
Harry James Smith 
Edgar Selwyn 
Augustin McHugh 
Robert Housum 
Charles Kenyon 
C. M. S. McLellan 



French's International Copyrighted Edition con- 
tains plays, comedies and farces of international 
reputation; also recent professional successes by 
famous American and English Authors. 
Send a four-cent stamp for our new catalogue 
describing thousands of plays. 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Oldest Play Publisher in the World 
28-30 West 38th Street, NEW YORK CITY 



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